0 


THE   CIRCLE 


In  youth  we  dream  that  life  w  «  straight  line  ;  later,  we 
know  it  to  be  a  circle  in  which  the  present  presses  on  the 
future,  the  future  on  the  past. 


"  The  spark  that  God  sets  in  the  few  glowed  in  her 
voice  and  shone  in  her  eyes" 


Che  Circle 

By  KATHERINE  CECIL    THURSTON 

Author  of 

"THE   MASQUERADER," 

"THE  GAMBLER," 
Etc.,  Etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,   #  #    #    # 
<*   #  /*    PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1908 
Br  KATHERINE  CECDL 

All  rights  retenta 


TH»  UNIVEBSITT  Passa,  C\MBU»O«,  IVUas.,  U.  S.  A.. 


To  Jfy  Husband 


The  Circle 


PART     ONE— CHAPTER     I 

IT  was  a  stormy  night   in  November ;  out  of 
doors,  the  wind  swung  through  the  street  in  a 
rocking  gale,  but  in  the  parlour  behind  the 
curio  shop,  life  seemed  at  its  ebb.     Old  Solny 
pored  over  a  musty  book,  and  Anna  stood  with  her 
head  thrown  back,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  her 
eyes  seeing  dreams ;  above  them,  on  the  dun-coloured 
wall,  the  Dutch  clock  ticked  methodically,  but  other- 
wise the  room  was  bereft  of  sound. 

It  was  long  before  either  moved  ;  then  Solny  stirred 
automatically  —  all  his  actions  were  jerky  and  indi- 
rect —  and  Anna  unclasped  her  hands.  She  watched 
him  fumble  for  his  handkerchief,  and  the  corners  of 
her  mouth  stiffened  unconsciously  as  he  opened  the 
knotted  corner  and  drew  out  his  worn  snuff-box, 
opening  the  lid  with  a  little  snap.  Youth  is  all  raw 
edges  to  the  foibles  of  age,  and  Anna  was  not  yet 
sixteen.  She  moved  impatiently,  and  the  dreamy 
look  drifted  from  her  eyes  like  a  shadow  before  the 
sun. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  it 's  long  past  eight."" 
He  turned,  and  a  tiny  cloud,  like  fine  brown  sand, 
scattered  from  his  fingers  along  his  sleeve. 


2  THE    CIRCLE 

"  It 's  after  eight,"  she  said  again. 

"So?"  He  shut  his  book  reluctantly.  "And 
the  supper  ?  " 

"The  supper  has  been  ready  for  half  an  hour."" 
There  was  no  vexation  in  her  voice ;  she  spoke  with 
the  indifference  of  one  schooled  to  wait.  Life  in  the 
curio  shop,  in  the  little  parlour  behind  it,  in  the 
cramped  bedrooms  upstairs,  was  one  persistent  waiting 
—  for  something  that  never  came.  She  made  the  tea 
quietly  in  the  Russian  fashion  that  her  father  had 
brought  with  him  to  England  many  years  before  ; 
then  she  took  her  place  at  the  table  and  began  to 
cut  up  the  bread. 

"  There  was  another  riot  at  the  docks  last  night," 
she  said,  "  and  another  robbery.  White's  gang  this 
time." 

"  So  ?  " 

"  A  woman  was  robbed  of  a  purse  with  ten  bank- 
notes in  it."  She  drew  up  her  chair. 

"So?"  Old  Solny  stretched  out  a  furtive  hand 
and  drew  his  book  nearer  by  an  inch. 

"Yes.  And  she  gave  up  the  purse  without  a 
word." 

"So?" 

At  the  third  exclamation  the  girl  struck  the  table 
sharply  with  her  hand.  "  Father,"  she  cried,  "  do  say 
something  more !  You  make  me  feel  so  much  — " 
her  voice  shook,  "  —  so  much  alone."  She  glanced 
round  the  little  room  with  its  scanty  furniture,  its 
edds  and  ends,  its  accumulation  of  value  and  rubbish, 


THE    CIRCLE  3 

and  her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  She  knew 
every  detail,  from  the  half-filled  packing-cases  crowded 
on  the  window-seat  to  the  darkened  ceiling,  but  she 
had  never  consciously  spoken  the  word  "  home."  She 
looked  across  the  table,  and,  throwing  back  her  head, 
tossed  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  You  'd  rather  have  one  page  of  that  old  book 
than  —  than  —  " 

Solny  looked  up  perplexed ;  then  he  passed  his 
finger  lovingly  over  the  manuscript.  "But  it  is 
priceless,"  he  said.  "  Merovingian  —  ten  hundred 
and  twelve."  He  returned  to  his  place  on  the  sixth 
page. 

Anna  cut  herself  another  round  of  bread  ;  then  she 
sighed.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  man  !  " 

Solny  went  on  deciphering ;  the  storm  shook  the 
house  in  a  further  gale  and  the  fire  roared  up  the 
chimney. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  man  !  "  she  said  again. 

This  time  her  father  looked  at  her  over  his  glasses. 
"  Why,  my  child  ?  Are  you  not  content  ?  Is  the 
life  not  good  ?  " 

"  Oh,  good  enough ! "  She  leant  back  in  her 
chair.  "  But  if  I  were  a  man  —  if  I  were  a  man, 
father,  I  M  get  on  board  a  ship  and  be  a  sailor.  At 
the  docks  to-day  the  wind  was  roaring  through  the 
masts,  and  it  sounded  like  a  great,  loud  song;  it 
made  me  mad  to  see  the  sea.  The  world  and  the  sea 
must  be  very  much  alike."  She  rested  her  elbows  on 
the  table  and  took  her  face  between  her  hands. 


4  THE    CIRCLE 

Solny  made  an  unintelligible  sound.  "  The  world 
is  fit  for  one  thing,"  he  said,  —  "  to  keep  out  of." 

"  But,  father  — " 

"  You  talk  too  much,  child.  Get  me  the  cata- 
logue." 

She  rose.  "  Don't  you  think  that  the  woman 
whose  purse  was  stolen  was  a  fool  ? " 

"  The  catalogue  ! "     His  head  was  bent  again. 

She  crossed  the  room,  and  pausing  by  the  book- 
shelf, reached  for  a  volume  on  the  upper  tier.  "  If 
I  had  been  in  her  place,  I  'd  have  fought  for  what 
belonged  to  me  —  with  White  or  any  man."  She 
tossed  back  her  plait  of  thick  red  hair  and  blew  some 
dust  from  the  cover  of  the  book.  "  It  must  be  fine, 
you  know,  to  feel  like  that  —  to  feel  in  the  middle 
of  things,  and  not  to  care.  Here  it's  just  pearls 
and  china  jars  and  dust — always.  Don't  you  ever 
want  to  go  back  ?  " 

"  Back  where  ?  " 

u  Oh,  back  into  life ;  back  into  when  you  were 
young."  She  paused. 

"  When  I  was  young,"  he  said  slowly.  "  there  was 
persecution  —  poverty  and  persecution  for  every  Jew. 
That  was  all." 

She  looked  at  him  lingeringly.  "  It  must  be  fine 
to  be  persecuted.  Did  you  feel  a  hero  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said  shortly,  and  his  head  drooped. 

Anna  was  studying  the  dial  of  the  clock  and 
missed  the  expression  on  his  face.  At  the  brusque- 
ness  of  his  answer  her  expression  fell.  "  You  are  n't 


THE    CIRCLE  5 

a  bit  like  a  story,11  she  said  regretfully  ;  "  you  never, 
never  tell  things  ;  and  you  must  have  seen  —  "  She 
made  a  descriptive  gesture  with  her  hands. 

"  You  can  see  too  much,11  he  said  laconically. 

She  sat  on  the  back  of  a  chair  and  swung  her  foot 
to  and  fro  ;  the  rise  and  drop  of  the  wind  was  beat- 
ing in  her  blood ;  she  strummed  an  accompanying 
tattoo  on  the  list  book  in  her  hand.  "  Oh,  how  I 
wish  —  " 

Solny  tapped  the  table  with  a  gesture  not  unlike 
her  own.  "  You  talk  too  much,11  he  said  again. 
"  The  catalogue  !  " 

Slowly  she  got  to  her  feet  and  crossed  the  room  ; 
her  senses,  keen  as  razor  blades,  were  racing  at  the 
heels  of  the  wind.  Within  a  yard  of  her  father  she 
paused ;  her  head  bent  suddenly  and  the  pupils  of 
her  eyes  enlarged. 

"  Father,  did  you  hear  that?" 

He  turned  a  page. 

"  Father ! " 

The  book  dropped. 

Anna^  body  was  slightly  bent  and  there  was 
colour  in  her  face.  "  Father,  it  ""s  a  row  !  "  she  said 
with  conviction.  "  I  can  hear  the  running  and  the 
shouts.  Father ! "  She  clasped  her  hands.  "  Father, 
I  heard  someone  cry  out.  Give  me  the  lamp  !  " 

The  old  man  turned  pale.  "  You  are  mad,  Anna,11 
he  said  tremulously.  "  What  would  you  do  ?  You 
are  mad.11 

She  was  listening  intently ;  the  colour  in  her  face 


6  THE    CIRCLE 

came  and  went  like  a  flame.  "  Oh  !  "  She  drew  in 
her  breath.  "  ^uick,  father,  the  lamp  !  " 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  faltered  again. 

She  turned  to  him,  a  torrent  of  speech  behind  her 
lips ;  but  in  view  of  his  frightened  face  the  words 
died  away.  "Father,"  she  said  shortly,  "let  me 
pass.  Can't  you  see  that  worlds  would  n't  keep  me 
back?" 

He  stretched  out  his  hand,  but  her  eyes  and  her 
ears  were  elsewhere.  She  flew  past  him  like  a  whirl- 
wind, and  seized  the  copper  lamp  ;  ten  seconds  later, 
he  heard  her  struggling  with  the  bar  of  the  shop 
door.  "  Anna,"  he  called  waveringly.  "  Anna, 
think  of  my  treasures !  My  stock  ! " 

But  his  only  answer  was  the  trail  of  smell  and 
smoke  that  the  lamp  had  left. 


PART    ONE—  CHAPTER    11 


A^A  held  the  lamp  above  her  head,  and  her 
fingers  moved  eagerly  as  they  unfastened 
the  catch  of  the  bar.  There  was  no 
fear  in  her  face,  no  shadow  of  it  in  her 
mind  ;  her  whole  being  was  absorbed  in  one  idea  — 
the  knowledge  that  between  her  and  the  rush  of  life 
there  stood  only  one  small  door. 

She  heard  her  father  stumble,  she  heard  a  dragging 
sound,  as  he  pulled  back  the  curtain  that  divided 
the  parlour  from  the  shop  ;  then  she  quickened  her 
movements  and  the  bar  dropped  from  the  door  with 
a  clang.  An  instant  later,  she  blew  out  the  lamp. 

"  If  there  is  a  row,  it  's  best  to  have  no  light.  Do 
you  hear,  father  ?  " 

Solny  responded  inaudibly  ;  his  voice  had  the  pit- 
eousness  of  a  child's. 

Anna  smiled.  "  It  's  all  right.  Here  's  my  hand." 
She  held  out  her  hand,  and  to  her  impatience  the 
minute  seemed  interminable,  before  his  fingers,  grop- 
ing in  the  air,  found  and  grasped  her  own. 

"  But  you  can  do  no  good  —  and  I  dislike  the 
dark.  Anna  !  " 

"  I  was  n't  thinking  about  doing  good.  I  want  to 
see  things.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 


8  THE    CIRCLE 

His  hand  tightened  on  hers. 

"  Father  ! "  she  said  afresh.  "  You  can  hear  it 
again  now  —  if  you  listen  hard.  It  's  away  behind 
the  house ;  it 's  back  in  Enbury  Street,  but  the  wind 
is  blowing  it  round  the  corner.  Can't  you  hear  ? 
Voices  and  running  ?  "  She  pulled  him  forward,  and 
for  a  space  there  was  no  sound  in  the  place  beyond 
their  differently  taken  breaths. 

Then  she  straightened  herself.  Solny  shrank 
against  her  arm,  but  she  moved  him  aside  and  took 
a  fresh  step  forward.  "  Just  wait  for  me,  father  — 
and  don't  light  the  lamp.  1 11  be  back  in  a  minute 
—  I  only  want  to  see." 

"  But,  Anna  —  "  He  groped  forward  and  caught 
her  arm.  "  If  you  must  go,  go  by  the  yard  into  the 
Passage  —  it 's  easier,  it 's  safer  than  the  front  door.'1 

She  laughed.  "  And  be  trampled  to  death  in  the 
Passage  if  a  crowd  came  up.  Twill  be  all  right, 
father ;  I  '11  shut  the  door  —  and  I  '11  knock  when 
I'm  ready  to  come  back.  Now!"  With  a  roar 
from  the  freed  wind  that  whirled  her  skirts  and 
whistled  in  her  ears,  she  let  the  door  fall  open  and 
stood  framed  in  the  aperture.  For  a  moment  she 
breathed  in  the  freshness  of  the  night;  then  she 
moved  forward,  drawing  the  door  with  her.  A 
second  later,  it  closed  with  a  gentle  thud  —  shutting 
her  on  the  outer  side. 

The  street  was  a  sweep  of  grey,  whipped  clean  by 
the  gale.  To  her  right,  as  she  paused  on  the  narrow 
foot-path,  ran  the  by-way  known  as  the  Passage  ;  an 


THE    CIRCLE  9 

ill-kept  lane  that  joined  Enbury  Street  with  Spin- 
ner's Alley,  and  into  which  the  yard  at  the  side  of 
Solny's  house  opened  by  a  little  door.  To  her  right 
stretched  Felt  Street,  on  which  the  shop  front  opened, 
a  place  of  no  great  width,  stone-paved  and  possessing 
houses  of  enormous  age.  She  glanced  along  its 
length  with  impartial  eyes.  It  was  unattractive  in 
the  day ;  it  was  even  more  uninviting  in  the  night. 
It  had  a  desolate  air  —  the  desolate  monotony  of 
an  over-familiar  scene.  She  knew  every  curve  in 
the  eaves,  every  stone  in  the  pavement.  Her  eyes 
wandered  from  one  object  to  another.  First,  be- 
yond the  curio  shop,  came  the  baker's  ;  then  the 
pawn-shop  with  its  flaunting  sign  ;  then  the  tiny  cul- 
de-sac,  no  more  than  a  gaping  mouth  among  the  dull 
shadows ;  then  —  But  her  eyes  grew  weary ;  she 
turned  and  walked  a  step  or  two  towards  the  corner; 
then  paused  again.  On  the  opposite  side  the  jut- 
ting houses  were  a  black  mass,  save  where  a  candle 
showed  through  a  scanty  blind  or  a  street  lamp 
caught  reflections  in  a  window-pane.  Everywhere 
were  silence  and  shadow  and  an  apprehensive  sense 
of  things  to  come.  She  put  up  her  hand  and 
smoothed  the  long  wisps  of  hair  that  the  wind 
had  blown  free  of  her  plait.  Then  she  gave  a 
slight  cry  and  stepped  backward,  as  a  dog  fled 
round  the  corner  of  the  Passage  and  darted  down 
Spinner's  Alley  with  a  howl.  A  <*econd  later,  hot 
upon  its  precursor,  came  another  fugitive ;  but, 
unlike  the  dog,  it  lurched  into  the  cross  streets 


10  THE    CIRCLE 

with  the  speed  of  a  badly-launched  arrow,  and 
there  paused. 

Anna  felt  her  blood  ebb  and  her  breath  catcK 
She  stood  immovable,  her  hand  suspended  in  the  air. 
In  the  uncertain  light  the  new-comer  was  not  easy  of 
definition  —  beyond  the  fact  that  he  was  a  man  and 
small  of  stature ;  nevertheless,  as  he  paused  in  the 
open  space  with  the  breathless  stillness  of  a  hunted 
animal,  his  figure  showed  up  impressive  and  grey. 

The  pause  was  instantaneous,  but  to  the  girl  it 
seemed  immense.  She  moved ;  the  man  turned ; 
and  in  the  half  gloom  she  felt,  rather  than  knew, 
that  their  glances  met.  The  wind  was  blowing 
from  him  to  her  ;  her  skirts  flapped  like  sails  at  sea ; 
her  hair,  blown  across  her  eyes,  momentarily  blinded 
her ;  faint  and  yet  distinct  came  the  sound  that  she 
had  heard  from  the  parlour  —  the  noise  of  massed 
feet  and  voices,  that  is  like  no  other  sound  on  earth. 
She  tossed  the  hair  out  of  her  eyes  and  looked 
towards  the  man. 

It  was  patent  at  a  glance  that  the  oncoming  sound 
had  reached  him  as  soon,  or  sooner,  than  it  had  her. 
He  seemed  to  sway  for  an  instant  in  despair,  then 
to  gather  decision  from  the  very  presence  of  his  fear. 
With  a  flash  that  was  almost  intuition,  she  defined 
his  glance,  wild  and  eager,  as  he  revolved  suddenly, 
facing  each  of  the  intersecting  streets  in  turn  ;  and 
with  an  articulate  sound  of  excitement,  her  mind 
leaped  to  the  same  solution,  at  the  same  instant, 
as  did  his. 


THE    CIRCLE  11 

"  The  black  alley ! "  she  said  below  her  breath  ; 
and  she  clasped  her  hands  and  shut  her  eyes  as  he 
fled  past  her  up  the  cul-de-sac,  beyond  the  baker's 
and  the  pawn-shop ;  then  she  turned  and  stood 
against  the  corner  —  facing  the  Passage.  Almost 
instantaneously  the  crowd,  blocked  by  its  own  haste 
in  the  narrow  outlet,  found  egress  and  poured  into 
the  open  space.  There  it  wavered,  fell  asunder, 
drew  together  again,  and  finally  stood  still. 

Anna  watched  it  steadily.  With  a  throb  of  ex- 
citement she  realised  the  situation  and  waited  events. 
It  was  a  second  or  two  before  she  was  seen  ;  then, 
with  a  vague  impulsiveness  that  always  marks  a 
mob,  the  press  swayed  towards  her,  moving  in  upon 
the  foot-path,  while  the  outer  stragglers  spread  in  a 
dark  tail  across  the  street. 

"  Seen  a  man  ? "  demanded  a  voice  in  the  fore- 
ground ;  and  a  dozen  other  voices  instantly  echoed 
the  question. 

The  colour  rushed  into  Anna's  face ;  the  joy  flnd 
danger  of  her  position  assailed  her  in  a  rush. 

"  Speak  up  ! "  came  from  the  centre  of  the  throng. 
The  crowd  wavered  towards  her,  then  receded  mo- 
mentarily ;  the  breath  from  many  throats  was  carried 
to  her  across  the  wind.  She  suddenly  looked  up. 

"  What  sort  of  man  ?  "  she  said. 

"  A  small  man."  The  words  were  spasmodic ;  the 
chase  had  been  a  hot  one. 

"  He  war  n't  so  small,  neither." 

«  Shut  up  !  "     The  first  man  turned. 


12  THE    CIRCLE 

"  'Bout  my  size,"  put  in  a  third,  pushing  to  the 
front  only  to  be  elbowed  back. 

Anna  clasped  her  hands  behind  her.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  existence  issues  of  real  moment  were 
at  stake.  She  glanced  quickly  over  the  faces  that 
confronted  her,  and  to  her  inner  eyes  the  picture  of 
the  fugitive  alone  in  the  grey  street  rose  plain  and 
sharp  —  the  panic  of  his  last  movements,  the  incon- 
gruity of  one  man  against  fifty.  She  tightened  her 
fingers  and  her  eyes  gleamed. 

"  He  was  a  small  man,11  she  said.  "  I  saw  him 
quite  plainly.  He  was  a  small  man.11 

"  That  1s  right !    Small  he  was.    But  look  sharp  ! " 

"  I  came  out  to  get  a  breath  of  air  and  to  feel  the 
wind ;  I  was  leaning  against  the  door  — "  She 
spoke  with  slow,  deliberate  unconcern. 

A  wave  of  impatience  crossed  the  crowd.  A  man 
on  the  outer  edge  jostled  and  pushed. 

"  She 's  kiddin1  you,  mate !  "  he  called ;  and  a 
laugh,  followed  quickly  by  a  growl,  rose  and  dropped 
again. 

"  Maybe  she  "s  hidin1  him,11  volunteered  another. 
"  There 's  'oles  enough  !  " 

Several  exclamations  followed  this,  followed  in 
their  turn  by  an  ominous  sway  towards  the  foot- 
path, towards  the  pawn-shop  and  the  cul-de-sac. 
Anna  felt  it,  and  felt  her  resolution  quail ;  then, 
with  an  effort  that  was  inspiration,  she  drew  herself 
very  straight. 

"  Stop  !  "  she  cried.     "  Stop  !  "     Her  voice  rang  ; 


THE    CIRCLE  13 

even  the  tumultuous  stragglers  paused,  surprised  into 
quiet.  She  waited  for  a  second,  her  head  held  high, 
her  face  very  pale  ;  then  she  spoke  with  direct  force. 

"  Look  here,""  she  said,  "  you  found  this  street 
quiet,  you  'd  better  leave  it  quiet.  About  making 
fools  of  you  —  I  could  n't  do  that,  for  you  're  fools 
already ;  I  'd  hunt  a  man  better  myself.  A  question 
and  an  answer,  and  you  'd  have  had  hir*  five  minutes 
ago ;  instead  —  " 

The  man  who  had  been  the  first  to  speak  caught 
her  arm.  She  flung  him  off  fiercely.  "  Don't  touch 
me ! "  she  said.  "  I  can  talk  without  that.  The 
man  you  're  after  came  down  the  Passage  before  you ; 
he  stood  for  a  second  at  the  cross  streets,  looking  up 
and  down  ;  then  he  saw  me  and  bolted  down  Spin- 
ner's Alley.  You'll  have  to  run,  if  you  want  to 
catch  him  now ! "  She  laughed.  The  laugh  was 
strained  and  pitched  too  high  ;  but  a  crowd  is  not 
sensitive  to  shades  of  tone.  There  was  a  shuffling 
wait,  a  noisy  indecision,  then  someone  in  the  back- 
ground shouted  "  Stop  thief ! "  One  man  tunied  and 
ran,  a  second  followed,  then  a  third.  Before  a 
minute  had  gone  by,  before  the  girl  had  taken  and 
let  go  a  dozen  breaths,  the  mass  of  humanity  had 
wueeled  in  a  body  ;  the  street  was  still  and  grey 
once  more,  its  only  audible  disturbance  the  wind 
amongst  the  house-tops,  the  shrill  voices  growing 
fainter  at  every  step.  With  swift  reaction  she  leant 
back  against  the  door. 

The   moment   of  vitality  was  passed,  her  knees 


14  THE    CIRCLE 

trembled  and  there  was  a  singing  in  her  ears.  She 
stood  immovable  for  a  considerable  space,  then 
suddenly  she  sprang  alert  to  the  remembrance  of 
the  rescued  man.  From  the  shadows  on  her  right, 
someone  was  moving  steadily  nearer  inch  by  inch. 
The  light  from  the  scattered  gas-lamps  was  poor ; 
she  bent  forward  in  keen  curiosity ;  then  abruptly 
she  drew  back. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said  involuntarily.     "  Oh  ! " 

At  no  time  would  the  sight  have  been  a  pleasant, 
one ;  in  the  half  dusk  of  the  quiet  street  it  almost 
possessed  elements  of  fear.  The  figure  of  the  man 
was  small  and  deformed,  his  face  had  the  bluish  hue 
of  chalk,  his  lips  trembled,  a  dark  stain  ran  across 
the  forehead  from  eyebrow  to  temple. 

For  an  instant  Anna's  capacities  swam  ;  then,  with 
equal  speed,  her  sense  of  necessity  sprang  into  its 
place. 

"  What 's  happened  to  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What 
have  they  done  to  you  ?  You  are  hurt  —  cut ! " 

He  gazed  at  her  in  a  stupor  of  silence  ;  it  struck 
her  that  his  eyes  were  unusually  large. 

She  moved  nearer,  conquering  her  repulsion.  "  Do 
you  know  that  you  are  safe  —  quite  safe  ?  " 

His  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came ;  he  had  out- 
stripped speech  by  several  degrees. 

"  But  you  are  !  Wake  up  !  Understand  !  You  are 
safe  —  quite  safe."  She  caught  his  shoulder  and 
shook  it  gently  to  enforce  the  words  ;  then  she  drew 
back  and  looked  at  her  hand.  It  was  stained  with 


THE  CIRCLE  15 

the  blood  that  had  dropped  from  his  forehead  to  his 
coat.  With  a  shock  of  feeling,  she  turned  and 
rapped  violently  on  the  shop  door. 

There  was  a  long  wait,  an  incredibly  long  wait, 
then  the  hinges  creaked,  the  dark  shop  opened  before 
her  like  a  cave,  and  tut  dr^  smell  —  the  combination 
of  Eastern  spice  with  Western  must  that  had  grown 
with  her  into  existence — floated  out  on  the  cold 
air.  Pushing  the  stranger  before  her,  she  stumbled 
through  the  door.  Then  she  raised  her  voice. 

"  Father,  father,  are  you  there  ?     Strike  a  light ! " 

Silence  followed ;  someone  shut  the  door  with  a 
thud,  then  drew  a  match  slowly  across  a  box.  It 
flared  for  an  instant,  lighting  the  scene  —  the  shop 
with  its  litter,  its  cobwebs,  its  shadows  ;  the  bent 
form  of  old  Solny,  as  he  held  it  aloft ;  the  drawn, 
haggard  face  of  the  rescued  man.  The  united  effect 
verged  on  the  grotesque. 

Anna  felt  herself  turn  cold  again ;  but  she  laughed. 
"  Real  life  is  rather  terrible,"  she  said  huskily  ;  "  but 
—  but  it 's  fine,  all  the  same."  She  sank  down  sud- 
denly on  an  empty  box. 


PART    ONE— CHAPTER    III 


1 


match  flamed,  flickered,  and  then  fell, 
and  once  more  there  was  the  darkness 
with  its  magnified  sense  of  spice  and 
must.  For  a  space  no  one  spoke  ;  then  at 
last  Anna  broke  the  silence,  her  vitality  re-asserting 
itself  with  a  rush. 

"  Father,"  she  cried  sharply,  "  another  match  and 
the  lamp  and  hot  water.  This  man  is  cut  to  bits  !  " 

Solny  fumbled ;  then  a  fresh  light  flared  up  and 
showed  the  stranger  leaning  against  the  wall,  his 
hands  hanging  by  his  sides,  his  eyes  glowing  like 
lamps  in  the  uncertain  gloom.  A  tinge  of  pity 
moved  Anna  —  the  sense  of  ownership  and  gentle- 
ness that  one  feels  towards  a  rescued  animal ;  and 
with  one  of  her  rapid  impulses  she  rose.  Solny  had 
set  a  light  to  the  lamp,  and  she  crossed  the  shop 
quickly,  treading  with  caution  between  the  china 
and  the  stacks  of  books. 

"  You  Ye  very  weak/1  she  said.  "  Put  your  arm 
round  my  neck  ;  I  '11  help  you  to  walk." 

The  man  wavered  for  an  instant,  then  obeyed. 

"  Now,  father,"  she  called,  "  go  before  us  with  the 
light,  and  we  11  want  a  big  fire  —  heaps  and  heaps 
•f  coaL  Are  you  ready?"  She  turned  to  the 


THE    CIRCLE  17 

stranger,  passing  her  arm  about  his  body  ;  and  to- 
gether—  he  swaying  slightly,  she  measuring  her 
steps  with  care  —  they  crossed  the  dusty  floor  to  the 
little  room  behind. 

In  the  parlour  the  fire  was  casting  orange  flames ; 
the  homely  supper  was  still  to  be  removed.  For  the 
first  time  Anna  realised  the  grip  of  familiar  things, 
"  Draw  up  the  arm-chair,  father,""  she  said ;  then  she 
turned  again  to  the  new-comer.  "  It  's  rather  un- 
steady, but  you  must  n't  mind." 

He  glanced  at  her,  and  a  peculiar  expression,  a 
look  that  was  ironical  and  yet  patient,  touched  his 
face.  "  No,  Fraulein,"  he  said  in  somewhat  slow  and 
halting  English,  "  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  mind." 
Then  quite  suddenly  and  quite  quietly  he  fainted  in 
her  arms. 

It  happened  in  a  second  ;  the  whole  thing  seemed 
as  natural  and  as  much  in  sequence  as  a  scene  upon 
the  stage.  Anna  realised  it  on  the  instant,  as  she 
bent  to  the  additional  weight ;  Solny  grasped  the 
fact  a  moment  later,  and  between  them  they  laid 
him  on  the  ground,  opening  his  collar  for  greater 
air.  For  a  space  they  watched  him  breathlessly  ; 
then  with  a  certain  uneasy  haste  Solny  rose  from 
his  knees.  He  leant  deprecatingly  against  the  table, 
pushed  his  glasses  onto  his  forehead,  drew  them  down 
again,  then  spoke. 

"If  you  don't  really  need  me,  Anna,"  he  said 
hesitatingly  ;  "if  you  don't  really  need  me,  there's  a 
sentence  in  that  manuscript  that  baffles  me.  You 

i 


18  THE    CIRCLE 

know  I  have  been  much  upset  to-night.*1  His  glance 
wandered  wistfully  from  the  unconscious  figure  of 
the  stranger  to  the  book  still  lying  beside  his 
plate. 

Anna  followed  his  gaze,  then  quite  suddenly  she 
laughed  —  a  spontaneous,  irresistible  laugh.  "  Oh, 
father,  you  are  different  from  everyone  in  the 
world !  Give  me  the  cold  water  and  a  bowl  and 
I'll  let  you  go;  I  can  see  your  fingers  twitching. 
Life  is  very  amusing,  after  all ! "  She  threw  back 
her  head  and  her  teeth  gleamed ;  she  had  gained  a 
new  standpoint,  though  an  unrealised  one. 

For  a  long  time,  and  very  carefully,  she  bathed 
the  stranger's  face,  then  quite  calmly  she  tied  up  his 
wound :  she  had  none  of  the  dread  of  unconscious- 
ness that  troubles  less  steady  brains.  She  studied 
his  features  with  candid  curiosity,  her  lips  remain- 
ing parted  in  the  questioning  attitude  of  a  child. 
"  Father,11  she  said  suddenly,  "  suppose  he  never 
wakes  at  all  ?  " 

She  hardly  expected  an  answer,  and  she  received 
none.  Solny  was  separated  from  her  by  eight  cen- 
turies. She  bent,  laying  her  ear  to  the  stranger's 
lips ;  then  she  redoubled  her  splashings  on  his  face 
and  hair.  When  at  length  his  throat  trembled  and 
his  eyelids  hesitatingly  stirred,  his  first  sight  of  a 
returning  world  was  a  pair  of  brilliant  eyes  and 
a  mouth  that  quivered  in  its  eagerness  to  smile  ; 
and  the  welcome  was  so  exhilarating  and  so  new 
that  he  forgot  his  troubles,  his  pain  and  the  inci- 


THE    CIRCLE  19 

dents  that  had  brought  him  there ;  and  accepting 
the  moment  as  it  was,  returned  the  smile. 

"  Ah,  that 's  better ! "  Anna  drew  a  long  breath. 
"For  a  while  I  thought  you  were  dead.  And,  do 
you  know,  I  never  dreamt  that  you  could  smile  — 
you  have  such  gloomy  eyes.  Father ! "  She  raised 
her  voice.  "  Father,  put  away  the  book,  he 's  awake 
again.  Come  and  help  him  into  the  chair." 

Solny  shuffled  round  the  table;  his  glasses  were 
firmly  fixed  and  his  eyes  looked  preoccupied.  He 
put  his  hands  under  the  man's  lean  arms  and  raised 
him.  "  Dear  me,""  he  said,  "  how  thin  you  are !  I 
suppose  you  know  nothing  of  Merovingian  manu- 
script ?  I  have  put  my  hand  upon  a  marvel." 

The  man  smiled  again  in  spite  of  the  pain  his 
movement  caused.  "I  am  of  little  use,  I  fear,  in 
any  way." 

Anna  interposed.  Action  was  her  sphere ;  her 
face  looked  radiant.  "  Back  to  your  book,  father, 
we  shaVt  disturb  you  for  an  hour.  But  first,  where 's 
the  French  brandy  ?  " 

Solny  gazed  round  abstractedly.  "Where  did  I 
put  the  key  ?  "  he  said.  "  The  brandy  is  in  the  top 
cupboard,  but  the  key  —  " 

Anna  was  trembling  with  impatience.  "Never 
mind  the  key  ;  you  know  you  forget  to  lock  the 
cupboard  in  any  case."  She  sprang  to  a  chair, 
poising  herself  lightly.  The  stranger's  eyes  fol- 
lowed her  attentively  ;  she  seemed  all  youth  and 
strength.  "  Of  course !  "  she  cried  with  a  laugh. 


20  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Of  course !  The  cupboard  is  as  open  as  the  day." 
She  thrust  her  hand  into  the  recess  and  drew  out  a 
squat  bottle  of  old-fashioned  make.  "Now  this  is 
pure  gold,"  she  said  seriously,  "  and  must  be  taken 
in  drops,  like  gold  is  melted  in  the  mint."  She 
sprang  down,  and  her  eyes  flashed  in  the  brilliance 
of  the  fire. 

"  I  '11  set  the  kettle  to  boil,  and  then  put  three 
lumps  of  sugar  in  a  tumbler  —  So!  That's  right, 
is  n't  it,  father  ?  " 

Solny  muttered  an  assent. 

"  And  you  '11  feel  as  strong  and  well  as  if  to-night 
had  never  been.11  She  came  and  stood  by  the  new- 
comer. "  Already  the  pain  is  better,  eh  ?  w 

"  Already,  Fraulein." 

"  That  's  right !  But  you  must  n't  call  me  Frau- 
lein  ;  I'm  just  Anna,  you  know  —  to  everyone." 

The  man  looked  up. 

"  And  you  —  "  She  stirred  the  fire.  "  What  are 
you  called  ? " 

He  looked  down  again.    "  Johann,"  he  said  shortly. 

She  repeated  the  name.     "  And  nothing  else  ?  " 

"  Nothing  else."     He  spoke  after  a  pause. 

She  seemed  satisfied.     "  You  are  a  German,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  come  from  Vienna," 

There  was  another  silence;  then  the  girl  spoke 
again.  "  Listen  to  the  kettle.  It 's  going  to  sing. 
Is  Vienna  very  big  ?  Bigger  than  London  ?  " 

"  Not  so  big  —  but  brighter." 

"Very  bright?"     She  lifted  off  the  kettle  and 


21 

poured  some  water  over  the  sugar  and  brandy  al- 
ready in  the  glass. 

"  For  some  —  very  bright." 

"  Ah,  I  shall  go  there  some  day  —  and  to  Paris." 
She  moved  towards  him,  carrying  the  tumbler.  "  Are 
there  theatres  in  Vienna  ?  " 

"  Oh,  many."     He  took  the  glass. 

She  looked  at  him  suddenly,  her  face  alight. 
"  Have  you  seen  the  theatres  —  the  great  actors 
and  actresses  on  the  stage  ? "  There  was  a  tone  in 
her  voice  that  he  had  not  observed  before. 

"  Oh,  yes."     He  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise. 

She  returned  the  glance  seriously.  "  I  'd  rather  go 
to  a  theatre,  you  know,  than  to  Heaven  —  much. 
I  have  seen  plays  in  booths  but  never  on  the 
stage." 

He  sipped  his  drink  and  watched  her  wonderingly. 
She  seemed  so  young,  yet  so  individual  —  so  markedly 
much  herself.  It  struck  him  instinctively  that  some 
natures  are  made  to  take,  as  others  are  made  to  give. 
The  thought  was  irrelevant  and  fleeting,  but  it  threw 
a  shadow  across  his  eyes. 

"  You  have  a  sad  thought,"  she  said  intuitively, 
"  and  sadness  is  n't  allowed.  I  found  you,  you 
know,  and  I  can  allow  or  not,  as  I  like ;  you  belong 
to  me."  She  patted  his  hand  and  smiled.  "To- 
morrow and  after  to-morrow  you  can  tell  me  about 
all  you  have  seen ;  but  to-night  you  must  rest  — 
just  rest." 

"But,  Fraulein  — " 


22  THE    CIRCLE 

"  What  ?  "     She  frowned  quickly. 

He  made  a  deprecating  motion  with  his  hands. 

"  Fraulein,  you  know  that  I  cannot  stay  here  — 
Y  ju  know  that  —  " 

She  drew  back  swiftly.  "  Father,  did  you  hear 
that  ?  "  Disappointment  and  tears  trembled  in  her 
voice. 

"  What,  child  ?  What  ?  You  have  made  me  lose 
my  place.11 

"  Father,  I  found  him  and  saved  him  and  brought 
him  in,  and  now  he  wants  to  go  !  " 

The  man  in  the  big  chair  moved  uncomfortably. 
"  Not  wants,  Fraulein  —  r 

"  Yes,  wants.11  She  turned  on  him  sharply,  then 
looked  again  towards  Solny.  "  Father,  did  you 
hear?11 

Solny  ran  his  fingers  desperately  through  his  hair. 
"  Have  what  you  will,  child,"  he  said  testily.  "  Have 
whatever  you  will ;  but  leave  me  in  peace.  If  you 
want  him,  no  doubt  hell  stay.  Give  him  the  attic 
room  that  John  Desinski  used ;  give  him  anything 
you  like  —  but  don't  speak  again.11  He  turned  in 
his  chair  and  put  his  hands  over  his  ears. 

The  others  confronted  each  other  silently. 

"  But,  Fraulein  —  " 

Anna  raised  her  hand  and  moved  nearer  by  a  step. 
"  It 's  very  well  to  talk  about  going,11  she  said,  "  but 
can  you  go  ?  *"  Then  her  manner  changed  ;  her  voice 
softened  and  she  smiled.  It  was  like  a  wave  of  sun 
through  a  chill  room.  "  How  do  you  arrange  to 


THE    CIRCLE  23 

walk,  wh»  U  you  can't  stand  alone  ?  "  She  bent  down 
and  looked  into  his  face,  and  again  the  firelight 
seemed  reflected  in  her  eyes.  "We  have  an  empty 
room  here,  and  a  good  welcome.  It  is  n't  very  nice 
of  you  to  go.11 

He  looked  up  helplessly. 

"  It  is  n't  very  kind  of  you,  when  I  want  you  to 
stay." 

Her  clear  gaze  met  his.  "  When  I  am  so  alone  ; 
when  I  —  when  I  would  like  so  much  to  have  a 
friend.  Won't  you  stay  —  Johann  ?  " 

The  appeal  was  irresistible.  There  was  a  long 
silence ;  he  looked  down,  then  looked  up.  "  I  am 
what  in  English  you  call  a  beggar,"  he  said  harshly. 

She  watchrd  him  for  a  second.  "  Then  teach  me 
to  talk  in  jrerman,"  she  said,  "  and  we  '11  never  use 
the  word-" 


PART    ONE— CHAPTER    IV 

SUCH  was  the  advent  of  Johann.  He  came 
as  a  thunderbolt  might  have  come,  in  a 
whirl  of  confusion ;  and  like  the  thunder- 
bolt when  its  thrill  of  life  is  passed,  he  lay 
where  he  had  fallen,  sinking  deep  into  the  soil  of  a 
new  existence  —  too  inert  and  passive  to  seek  farther 
fields.  He  slept  in  the  bed  that  had  once  belonged 
to  John  Desinski,  a  Polish  artist  who  had  died  in  the 
attic  above  the  shop,  and  he  slept  with  the  exhaus- 
tion that  follows  tumult  of  the  nerves ;  the  pain  of 
his  wound  lost  itself,  and  the  past,  with  the  present, 
fell  away  before  the  necessity  of  rest.  When  he 
opened  his  eyes  after  many  hours  and  blinked  before 
the  sunshine  of  a  fresh  day,  it  was  with  scarcely  any 
consciousness  of  the  previous  night. 

He  looked  at  the  unsteady  dressing-table  with  its 
white  cloth  ;  he  caught  a  glint  of  sun  mirrored  back 
from  the  water  in  the  ewer ;  he  watched  the  shadows 
chequering  in  drab  squares  on  the  bare  boards  ;  and 
then,  with  a  peculiar  realisation  of  shelter,  he  let  his 
eyelids  droop  again. 

A  cautious  shaking  of  the  door-handle  was  his 
second  summons  back  into  the  world. 

**  May  I  come  in  ?  " 


THE    CIRCLE  25 

The  voice  brought  a  sudden  colour  to  his  face  and 
made  him  raise  his  hand  to  the  unsightly  bandage 
on  his  head. 

"  If  you  will,  Fraulein." 

**  Say  Anna  —  or  you  get  no  breakfast."  The 
voice  tingled  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  life  ;  he  closed 
his  eyes  again  and  let  it  throb  through  him.  It 
warmed  his  mind  like  an  intangible  fire. 

"  Well  ?  "  An  impatient  foot  beat  on  the  floor 
outside.  "  I  can't  hold  the  tray  for  ever." 

He  laughed  in  nervous  response.  "  Please  then 
—  Anna." 

With  an  accompanying  sigh  of  relief  the  door  was 
pushed  in ;  and  then  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  sec- 
ond morning  was  created  in  the  room,  that  a  second 
flood  of  light  poured  through  it  from  some  unguessed 
source. 

"  Good  morning,  Johann  ! "  She  came  slowly 
across  the  room.  "  I  have  made  the  coffee  as  father 
likes  it  —  and  that  means  a  lot ;  and  I  wasted  three 
pieces  of  bread  before  the  toast  came  right."  She 
carefully  balanced  the  tray.  "  But  are  you  better  ?  " 
Her  tone  sank,  and  a  solicitous  look  crossed  her  eyes  ; 
it  was  one  of  her  characteristics  that  her  face  and 
voice  were  a  glass  to  her  thoughts  —  reflecting  sensa- 
tions to  the  finest  point.  "  Poor  Johann  ! "  she  said 
simply.  "  Just  for  a  second,  you  know,  I  forgot." 
She  helped  him  to  sit  up,  and  placed  the  tray  across 
his  knees ;  then  she  leant  against  the  foot  rail  and 
prepared  to  watch  him  eat. 


26 

After  a  full  minute's  silence  she  spoke  again. 
"  Do  you  remember  anything  about  last  night  ?  " 

The  words,  light  and  unmeant,  acted  on  him 
curiously.  He  bent  forward,  and  laid  his  cup  down 
with  so  jerky  a  movement  that  some  of  the  coffee  was 
spilt  on  the  sheet.  "  Don't,""  he  said  nervously.  "  I 
had  forgotten  about  last  night.  Your  kindness  and 
the  daylight  made  me  forget."  He  covered  his  eyes, 
and  it  seemed  to  the  girl  that  his  hand  shook.  She 
wondered  quickly  if  his  reason  was  entirely  sound. 

The  deformed,  like  the  blind,  are  quick  of  instinct ; 
he  looked  up,  half  conscious  of  the  thought  that  had 
crossed  her  mind.  "  You  are  not  to  be  afraid,""  he 
said  gently  :  "  it  is  I  who  must  be  that."  He  stared 
past  her  at  the  window  ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  in 
his  glazed  eyes  there  were  visions  of  the  night  before 
—  of  the  streets,  of  the  crowd — of  the  uncertain, 
baffling  lights.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
with  a  firm,  protective  touch. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is.  Tell  me  what  's  the  matter." 
She  stroked  his  arm.  "  Sometimes,  you  know  —  not 
very  often,  of  course,  but  sometimes  —  I  have  a  secret 
of  my  own ;  and  then  I  always  tell  it  to  my  father. 
He  doesn't  always  hear,  but  that  doesn't  matter; 
the  secret  is  gone  and  does  n't  weigh  any  more.  If 
you  '11  tell  me  yours,  I  '11  listen  all  I  can,  and  then 
't  will  go  from  you  —  right  away  from  you.  See  !  " 
She  touched  his  hand  entreatingly,  soothingly. 

He  turned  to  her.  "  But  you  are  a  child.  Why 
should  I  tell  my  thought  to  you  ?  " 


27 

For  an  instant  she  looked  annoyed;  then  she 
smiled  again.  "  You  11  tell  me  because  you  11  have 
to.  You  11  tell  me  to-morrow  if  you  don't  to-day. 
And  you  Ye  quite  wrong  about  my  being  a  child."" 

He  looked  at  her,  so  young,  so  reliant,  a  type  of 
the  world  apart  from  him  ;  and  a  sweeping  bitterness 
surged  through  his  mind  —  the  bitterest  of  all  bitter 
things,  the  knowledge  of  being  aloof.  Unconsciously 
he  bent  his  head. 

She  too  was  silent  for  a  space,  the  sense  of  his 
depression  weighing  on  her  without  explanation. 
She  moved  to  the  window,  and  drawing  back  the 
curtain,  let  in  an  added  flood  of  light.  Then  she 
turned,  bathed  in  its  brightness.  "  Is  there  anything 
so  tine  as  the  light  ?  "  she  said. 

He  lifted  his  head.  "  And  the  darkness  ?  What 
of  the  darkness  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  count  that.  There  must  be  darkness 
of  course,  as  well  as  sun,  but  when  it  comes  we  can 
shut  our  eyes."  She  tried  to  read  his  expression, 
but  it  puzzled  and  evaded  her. 

"  Ah,  yes,  for  you  —  you  carry  the  brightness  with 
you ;  even  your  hair  is  like  a  torch." 

She  glanced  at  his  swiftly  ;  then  raised  her  hand. 
"  My  red  hair  !  You  are  laughing  ?  " 

"  No,  not  laughing."     His  voice  lapsed  again. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"Thirty."     He  sighed. 

"Thirty!"  She  considered  for  a  while.  "Half 
father's  age,  and  nearly  twice  mine.  Johann,  will  we 


28  THE   CIRCLE 

forget  about  the  sun  and  the  shadow  and  things,  and 
be  friends  ?  "  She  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  the  hand  questioningly.  His  own  fingers 
were  thin  and  pallid,  hers  looked  full  of  force  by  con- 
trast. They  both  looked  down,  and  Anna  laughed. 

"  I  believe  I  could  squeeze  hardest.  See ! "  She 
tightened  her  grasp ;  then  suddenly  let  go.  u  Have 
I  hurt  you  ?  Your  face  went  all  red." 

"  It  was  not  pain,"  he  said  hastily.  "  It  was  — 
Never  mind  what  it  was ;  some  day  you  will  know 
perhaps."  He  drew  away  his  hand  and  raised  the 
coffee-cup  again. 

"  But  I  want  to  know  now.     What  was  it  ?  " 

He  was  silent. 

"  Johann,  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  nothing."  He  broke  a  piece  of  toast. 
"  What  does  your  father  say  of  me  to-day  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Father !  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  Her 
mind  was  tossed  by  a  new  thought  as  a  leaf  is  blown 
by  the  wind. 

"  Yes."     He  sat  up  straight. 

"Well,  after  breakfast  —  "  She  settled  herself 
comfortably  against  the  foot  rail.  "  You  know  he 
always  reads  at  meals  and  never  talks  till  after. 
After  breakfast,  he  put  down  his  book  and  rubbed 
his  glasses ;  then  he  asked  me  quite  seriously  if  there 
were  rats  in  the  attic  room  ;  he  said  he  heard  noises 
there  last  night."  She  threw  back  her  head  and 
went  into  another  peal  of  laughter,  so  fresh  and 
amused  that  Johann  joined. 


THE    CIRCLE  29 

"  Ah,  that 's  good  ! "  she  said  suddenly.  "  You 
look  like  a  boy  when  you  laugh."" 

He  drew  back  sensitively ;  his  laughter  died  away 
and  the  old  sad  gravity  fell  over  his  features  like  a 
mask.  "  He  had  forgotten  me,  then  ? "  he  asked 
with  embarrassed  haste. 

"  Oh,  not  forgotten,  just  overlooked.  I  reminded 
him  of  course ;  I  told  him  you  ?d  slept  in  the  attic 
room.  He  looked  very  wise  for  a  while,  then  he 
seemed  to  wake  up.  '  Ah,  so  ! '  he  said.  '  The  young 
man  who  can't  decipher.  Tell  him  to  catalogue  the 
Egyptian  scarabs,  if  he  can  find  the  time.'  So  your 
place  is  fixed  for  you ;  there 's  no  running  away." 
She  laughed  afresh.  "  But  that 's  all  father  said  ;  he 
went  out  of  the  room  rubbing  his  book  at  the  cor- 
ners, like  this  — "  She  mimicked  the  action  of  a 
bookworm  with  such  precision  that  once  more  Johann 
was  compelled  to  smile. 

"Anna,""  he  said  suddenly,  "what  do  they  tell 
you  of  yourself  ? "" 

She  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly  ;  then  after 
a  long  pause  she  answered  with  simple  force,  "  When 
nobody  ever  thinks  of  me,  how  can  anybody  talk  of 
me?" 

Johann  felt  suddenly  abashed. 


PART    ONE— CHAPTER     V 

IT  was  eleven  oVlock  when  Anna  slung  a  basket 
over  her  arm  and  went  out  to  buy  dinner  for 
the  day.  She  was  marketwoman  and  cook  in 
the  curio  shop,  as  well  as  mistress,  and  the 
duties  that  fell  to  her  were  varied  and  numerous. 
She  bought  a  fish,  an  armful  of  vegetables,  a  packet 
of  lentils,  some  coffee  and  dried  figs  ;  then,  her  errand 
finished,  she  turned  homeward.  The  reflection  of 
the  morning  was  in  her  eyes,  an  audible  song  rose 
occasionally  to  her  lips,  for  the  lulled  storm  had  left 
a  wintry  sunshine  behind  it  that  quickened  the 
blood. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  as  she  swung  into  the  shop, 
"  you  ought  to  go  out !  There  ^s  a  feel  in  the  air 
to-day  that  would  wake  you."  Then,  as  Solny  made 
no  answer,  she  looked  farther  into  the  darkness. 
"  What,  Johann  !  Who  gave  you  leave  to  dress  ?  " 
She  laid  down  her  basket  and  went  forward  hur- 
riedly. "  What  are  you  doing  ?  Cataloguing  ? 
How  silly,  with  a  wounded  head!" 

Johann  raised  a  pallid  face.  "  It  only  hurts  a 
little ;  beside  —  beside,  I  like  to  be  occupied." 

Anna  shook  her  head.  "  How  silly ! "  she  said 
again.  "  You  look  ghastly ;  you  can  hardly  stand.* 


THE    CIRCLE  .jl 

•«  Then  I  will  sit  for  a  little."  He  looked  uncer- 
tainly about. 

But  the  girl  intervened.  "  Come  into  the  kitchen ; 
you  can  have  a  place  by  the  fire,  while  I  work."" 

He  assented  easily,  following  her  across  the  shop 
and  through  the  living-room,  to  the  kitchen  beyond ; 
it  seemed  that  he  lacked  force  to  reason  for  himself. 
Seen  by  day,  his  face  looked  meagre ;  and  the  de- 
tor  .1)  ity  that  by  night  had  appeared  shadowy,  showed 
cruelly  in  the  colder  light. 

Anna  drew  a  wooden  chair  to  the  grate,  and  pick- 
ing up  a  bellows,  set  the  fire  in  a  blaze.  From  her 
place  by  the  hearth,  she  glanced  up  at  him.  "  Your 
face  is  all  pinched,"11  she  said,  "  and  your  fingers  are 
blue  with  cold.  I  '11  have  to  look  after  you,  I  see." 

He  sat  down  docilely,  and  a  silence  fell. 

She  washed  the  lentils  for  the  soup,  slices  the 
onions  and  broke  up  the  celery,  but  her  eyes  and  her 
attention  were,  all  the  while,  on  the  stranger's  face ; 
it  was  with  a  preoccupied  air  that  she  finally  began 
to  prepare  the  fish. 

Johann,  in  his  turn,  was  uneasy.  He  moved, 
sighed,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  then  sighed 
again  ;  at  last  he  rose.  "  It  is  of  no  use,"  he  said, 
"  I  cannot  sit  quite  still.  It  was  the  same  when  you 
left  this  morning,  I  could  not  lie  in  bed."  He  walked 
nervously  to  the  dresser,  his  hands  hanging  by  his 
sides.  Anna,  watching  him  intently,  felt  that  he 
thirsted  to  speak  ;  but  she  kept  her  head  silently 
bent. 


32  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Anna !  "    -He  fingered  the  plates. 
"Yes." 

"  Oh,  it  is  of  no  use.""  He  crossed  to  the  window, 
then  walked  back  again.  "  Anna,  I  cannot  keep  it 
to  myself.  The  sweat  breaks  out  every  time  I  think. 
I  am  a  coward  —  a  coward  ! "  He  sorted  a  heap  of 
plates  till  they  rattled. 

She  watched  him  unswervingly.  "  I  suppose  we 
are  all  cowards,  Johann." 

The  steadiness  of  her  tone  mastered  him  ;  he 
ceased  his  nervous  gestures  and  passed  again  to  the 
window,  where  he  stood  looking  out.  "  If  I  only 
dared  — "  he  said  at  last. 

She  crossed  the  room,  and  slipping  her  arm  through 
his,  led  him  back  to  the  fire.  "  Now,  tell  me  what 
it  is.11 

He  dropped  into  his  former  seat  and  covered  his 
eyes.  "  I  have  been  robbed,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  and 
I  am  afraid."  He  slowly  wiped  the  dampness  from 
his  face. 

Anna  returned  to  the  table  and  began  to  slice  the 
fish.  There  was  a  long  pause ;  then  she  spoke. 
"Suppose  you  begin  at  the  beginning.  Most 
things  have  a  beginning,  you  know."  Secret-hunt- 
ing was  new  to  her,  but  she  had  a  keen  instinct 
for  the  right  act  and  the  right  word.  "  Most 
things  have  a  beginning,"  she  said  again  in  a  level 
voice. 

The  tonic  acted  ;  he  sat  up.  "  It  was  like  this  —  " 
He  cleared  his  throat. 


THE    CIRCLE  33 

"  Take  lots  of  time  ;  I  have  the  fish  to  cut  up  and 
wash  and  dry." 

He  steadied  himself,  drawing  a  short  breath. 
"  For  many  years  I  have  served  a  jewel  merchant  in 
Vienna  —  Golstock  by  name ;  a  man  who  has  built 
a  great  fortune  for  himself;  a  hard  man ;  a  man 
with  a  wilLof  stone."  He  paused  and  drew  breath 
again.  "  I  have  been  with  him  for  ten  years ;  it 
was  he  who  taught  me  the  English  —  to  speak  and 
to  write ;  I  have  kept  portions  of  his  English  cor- 
respondence for  four  years.  A  little  while  ago  he 
called  me  to  his  private  room — " 

The  man  stopped ;  and  the  only  sound  that  broke 
the  silence  was  the  steady  slicing  of  the  fish. 

"He  called  me  to  his  private  room — "  He 
paused  again. 

The  girl  waited,  drawing  her  finger-tip  slowly 
across  the  tip  of  the  knife.  Her  curiosity  was  run- 
ning riot,  but  she  kept  a  level  voice.  "  Yes  —  I 
understand." 

He  pulled  the  edges  of  his  handkerchief  through 
his  fingers,  seeking  nerve  in  the  friction  of  the  stuff. 
"  You  wonder  why  I  hesitate  and  halt,"  he  said, 
"  and  shiver  when  I  speak  of  him  ?  I  will  tell 
you  why.  It  is  because  I  have  feared  him  all  these 
years.  He  is  a  man  who  rules  by  fear." 

"  Why  have  you  stayed  with  him  all  these  years  ?  * 

"  That  I  hardly  know."  He  passed  his  hand  again 
over  his  face.  "  The  same  reason,  I  suppose,  that 
made  me  come  to  London  on  his  errand  ;  the  reason 

3 


34  THE    CIRCLE 

that  makes  men  like  him  rule  men  like  me  — always  ; 
with  just  a  word  or  a  look  from  the  eye.1" 

Anna  looked  down  at  her  knife.  "  What  about 
the  private  room  ?  " 

"I  am  coming  to  that."  He  moved  nervously. 
"  When  I  entered  the  room  he  was  sitting  at  his  desk, 
and  beside  him,  on  the  top  of  many  papers,  was  a 
leather  case  ;  he  was  tapping  it  with  his  fingers  as  I 
came  in.  'This  is  for  a  lady  in  London,'  he  said. 
*  It  must  reach  her  in  three  days ;  I  am  going  to 
trust  it  to  you.1  He  opened  the  case  and  showed 
me  what  lay  inside  —  five  ornaments  of  pink  topaz 
with  pearl  and  diamond  rims;  two  pins,  a  ring,  a 
hair  clasp  and  a  dagger.  I  remember,  for  I  had  to 
count  them  many  times,  till  he  was  satisfied  I  should 
not  forget.  They  were  very  brilliant  and  dazzled 
me  a  little,  but  I  took  them  out  and  looked  at  them 
one  by  one.  At  last  I  asked  him  what  they  were 
valued  for.  He  laughed.  *  You  are  not  paid  to 
valuate,1  he  said.  '  Never  see  beyond  your  own 
horizon.1 

"I  hesitated  for  a  moment.  It  was  not  that  I 
feared  the  responsibility  —  though  a  rose-coloured 
topaz  from  Brazil  is  something  to  be  prized ;  but  I 
was  uncertain.  I  asked  him  at  length  why  he  had 
chosen  me.  He  looked  at  me  slowly  with  his  hard 
eyes  ;  then  he  laughed  once  more.  '  I  choose  you, 
Johann,'  he  said,  'because  you  are  a  fool.  In  the 
case  of  valuables,  one  honest  fool  is  better  than  ten 
clever  rogues.1"" 


THE    CIRCLE  35 

Johann  stirred  uneasily  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
look,  and  Anna  felt  the  colour  flood  her  cheeks  as  it 
had  done  when  she  faced  the  crowd. 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  shifted  his  position  awkwardly.  "  I  did  noth- 
ing—  it  did  not  seem  that  there  was  anything  to 
do."  The  slow  precision  of  his  English,  the  careful 
forming  of  his  sentences  made  his  meanings  painfully 
clear. 

"  Go  on  ! "  She  returned  to  her  preparation  of 
the  fish.  "  How  I  should  hate  that  man  !  " 

"  Do  you  hate  me  ?  " 

"  You  ?     How  silly  !  "     She  tossed  back  her  plait. 

"  Do  you  despise  me  ?  " 

"  What  a  question  !  Tell  me  what  you  said  to 
Golstock." 

"  I  said  nothing.     He  always  talks."" 

"Well?" 

"  I  consented  to  do  the  errand."  Johannes  voice 
was  humble  and  low. 

"  I  would  n't  have  consented." 

"  No  ;  you  would  not."  He  waited  for  a  little : 
then  took  up  his  theme  again.  "  He  gave  me  my 
route  and  my  destination.  I  was  to  travel  to  Bel- 
gium in  the  least  frequented  way ;  and  reaching 
Antwerp,  to  cross  to  London  by  the  sea.  People 
with  valuables  take  the  quickest  means,  I  was  to 
take  the  slowest.  It  was  all  arranged  ;  it  is  a  whim  of 
Hen"  Golstock's  —  working  out  these  little  schemes. 
It  is  his  only  whim  that  I  have  known  ;  made  since 


36  THE    CIRCLE 

years  ago  he  had  a  packet  of  rubies  stolen  in  the 
post.""  He  stopped  to  collect  his  ideas;  and  \>nen 
he  spoke  again  it  was  with  more  rapidity  and  force. 

"  The  end  came  through  a  countryman  —  a  big 
Austrian  with  a  yellow  beard.  He  came  on  board 
the  ship  when  I  did,  and  we  climbed  the  gangway 
side  by  side.  During  the  day  he  spoke  —  casting  a 
word  to  me  now  and  then  in  the  English,  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  But  it  was  at  night  in  the  cabin  that 
he  played  his  card. 

"  We  were  crowded  together  —  some  in  bed,  some 
undressing  ;  the  ship  pitched  ;  and  the  smell  of  the 
swinging  lamp  was  very  rank.  An  argument  was 
running  at  the  centre  table,  but  the  voices  cut  each 
other  so  that  nobody  tried  to  hear.  Then  out  of 
the  medley,  like  a  gunshot,  came  a  bang,  as  the 
Austrian  struck  the  table  with  his  hand.  Everybody 
turned  round.  *  If  I  had  the  value  of  ten  gold  coins,1 
he  said,  '  I  would  throw  them  overboard,  sooner  than 
land  with  them  to-morrow  night  at  the  London 
docks.1  His  voice  shook  the  place,  and  each  man 
acted  as  came  best.  Some  made  a  jest  and  laughed  ; 
others  laughed,  but  not  so  easily  ;  and  some  turned 
pale  and  asked  him  what  he  meant.  But  he  said  no 
more.  Just  for  a  moment  his  careless  eyes  ran  round 
the  place,  like  lightning  dancing  upon  steel ;  and  it 
was  then,  in  a  sudden  second,  that  I  felt  his  gaze  on 
me,  It  was  but  a  flash,  but  he  saw  my  hand  go  to 
my  pillow,  as  I  sat  up ;  he  saw  my  thought  show  in 
my  eyes.  The  next  day  he  came  to  me  as  I  leant 


THE    CIRCLE  37 

over  the  ship's  side,  and  talked  to  me  in  my  own 
language  —  " 

"And  told  you  things — heaps  of  things?"  Anna's 
knife  was  suspended  in  the  air. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? " 

"Oh!"  She  tossed  back  her  plait.  "It  is  a 
trick  of  White's.  Your  Austrian  was  in  league  with 
White  ;  he  saw  through  you  like  you  see  through  £. 
pane  of  glass.  He  scared  you  and  warned  you,  and 
then  he  offered  to  steer  you  safe  to  his  own  house. 
Is  n't  that  right  ?  " 

Johann  hung  his  head. 

"  Oh,  Johann,  Johann  —  and  you  went ! " 

He  was  still  for  a  moment ;  then  he  spoke.  "  Herr 
Golstock  was  right.  I  never  had  the  brains." 

But  Anna  waved  him  on.  "  The  end  ?  "  she  said. 
"The  end?" 

"  Oh,  the  end  —  the  end  is  a  blur.  It  was  after 
supper  at  the  Austrian's  house ;  I  was  in  my  room, 
polishing  the  jewels.  They  broke  in  on  me  —  three 
men  with  heavy  faces  and  shuffling  feet.  They  stood 
for  a  moment  staring  at  me  ;  then  one  came  straight 
across  the  room  and  struck  me  on  the  head.  I  heard 
the  jewels  rattle  on  the  table ;  I  saw  them  pounce  on 
them  like  cats  ;  then  all  my  fear  rose  up,  —  choking 
me.  My  hand  shut  without  my  will  on  the  one 
ornament  I  still  held  ;  and  as  the  first  man  raised 
his  hand  to  strike  again,  I  fled  out  of  the  room. 
How  I  slipped  past  them  I  cannot  say,  I  suppose  the 
dazzle  of  the  stones  was  in  their  eyes,  but  I  tumbled 


38  THE   CIRCLE 

down  the  stairs  and  reached  the  street.  In  the  street 
there  were  people  —  many  people,  and  I  fell  into 
their  midst  — "  He  stopped  to  catch  his  breath. 

"Go  on  !     Go  on  ! "     Anna's  eyes  flashed. 

"  I  fell  in  amongst  them,  my  head  was  swinging 
round ;  then  sharply,  from  behind  me,  I  heard  the 
Austrian's  voice  with  your  English  cry  of  '  Stop 
thief ! '  And  it  seemed  to  me  that  everyone  —  I 
most  of  all  —  began  to  run.  It  was  then  that  I  found 
you."  He  suddenly  collapsed. 

There  was  a  tense  moment ;  then  Anna  let  the  fish 
fall  and  ran  to  him,  holding  out  her  hands. 


PART   ONE— CHAPTER    VI 

ANA  took  his  hand  and  stroked  it  gently. 
"  Poor  Johann  !  Poor  Johann  !  "  she  said, 
punctuating  the  words  with  little  motions 
of  her  fingers.     She  felt  that  there  were 
things  to  say,  but  they  slipped  her  grasp.     His  story 
still  rang  in  her  ears,  making  dull  echoes ;  and  she 
watched  him  with  eyes  half  incredulous,  half  envious 
of  the  adventure  he  had  known. 

He  was  lying  back  with  closed  lids  and  lashes  that 
twitched  with  the  drawing  of  his  breath.  His  pallid 
face  looked  thin  ;  and  frequently,  in  the  years  that 
followed,  the  isolation  of  his  attitude  in  that  mo- 
ment came  back  to  her  like  the  vaguely  recalled 
section  of  a  dream.  Time  seemed  to  halt  while 
he  sat  there;  she  counted  four  carts  pass  over  the 
cobbles  of  the  street,  then  her  patience  broke  away  ; 
she  pressed  his  hand  sharply,  and  he  sat  up. 

"  Oh,"  he  moaned,  "  it  was  terrible  —  terrible  !  " 
His  voice  sank,  and  he  fell  back  again.  But  Anna 
was  on  the  alert ;  with  a  swift  movement  she  dropped 
to  her  knees  and  looked  up  into  his  face.  For  a 
moment  the  spirit  in  her  eyes  inspired  him ;  he  raised 
himself  and  sat  forward  in  the  chair.  "I  told 
you  that  I  was  a  coward.  Look  !  "  He  held  out 


40  THE    CIRCLE 

his  hand  till  the  sun  played  on  it ;  she  saw  that  it 
shook. 

"  But,  Johann  —  " 

His  eyes  turned  on  her,  full  of  question  and  doubt. 

"Johann,  I  want  to  understand."11  She  rose  and 
moved  slowly  to  the  fire.  Her  tone  lingered  in  a 
puzzled  way  and  her  brows  were  knit  in  a  frown. 
"  You  have  lost  the  jewels  —  that 's  terrible,  of 
course ;  but  it 's  not  so  bad  as  you  say.  You  '11 
go  to  this  man  in  Vienna  — "  Her  voice  suddenly 
stopped,  broken  in  on  by  a  laugh  —  a  laugh  as  hard 
and  mirthless  as  a  crash  of  stones. 

"  Go  back  to  Vienna ! "  The  voice  was  as  shrill 
as  the  laugh.  "  Go  back  to  Vienna !  It  would 
make  the  dead  turn  in  the  grave."  All  at  once  he 
saw  her  face,  and  his  own  changed.  "  Oh,  Fraulein, 
I  have  hurt  you.  It  was  the  irony  and  the  fear 
together.  Fraulein,  forgive  — r 

But  Anna's  back  was  turned.  "It  isn't  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,"  she  said  coldly,  "  when  a  man  could 
kill  you  —  or  torture  you." 

"  True  !     It  is  not  a  hundred  years  ago." 

"  Then  you  are  a  coward. '"  Her  tone  was  short 
and  contemptuous. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  so  long  that  she  was  com- 
pelled at  last  to  turn  round  ;  she  turned  slowly,  then 
halted  with  a  throb  of  contrition. 

He  still  sat  forward,  but  his  face  was  humbly  bent ; 
his  eyes,  pained  and  wistful,  were  fixed  on  her  with 
a  concentrated  gaze ;  as  their  glances  met,  he  spoke. 


THE    CIRCLE  41 

*'  I  am  as  I  was  made,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  could  be 
faithful ;  I  think  I  could  love  well ;  but  in  my  own 
cause  I  shall  always  be  a  coward.  Nature  was  look- 
ing out  of  the  window  when  I  was  born.1'  He  added 
the  last  with  a  twist  in  his  thin  voice. 

Anna  laughed,  but  there  was  a  catch  in  her  laugh- 
ter. She  came  behind  him  and  touched  his  hair. 
"  I  was  a  wretch !  But  I  am  sorry.  Will  that 
do?11 

"  It  was  true  —  what  you  said." 

"It  was  not.  It  was  hateful.  Let's  start  again 
where  I  got  cross.  I  said  you  must  go  to  Vienna ; 
you  said  it  was  impossible.  Now  why?" 

"  Because  it  is  impossible.  Impossible."  There 
was  a  nervous  whiteness  round  his  mouth. 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  afraid.  I  know  men  cannot  kill  — 
but  there  are  other  things  besides  killing.  He  would 
vent  his  loss  on  me  in  other  ways.  Oh,  not  for  all 
the  value  of  the  stones  would  I  go  back."  He 
grasped  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

Anna  paused  undecided  ;  then  all  at  once  a  gen- 
erous impulse  crossed  her  face ;  she  walked  swiftly 
round  the  chair  and  stood  in  front  of  him.  "  Then 
don't  bother  any  more,"  she  said.  "  If  you  are  afraid 
to  go,  don't  go.  Stay  here  with  us."  She  bent,  look- 
ing straightly  in  his  eyes.  "  No  one  will  find  you 
here ;  this  place  is  like  a  mouse-hole  in  the  bigness 
of  London ;  you  will  be  as  safe  as  —  a  mouse." 
She  laughed ;  then  grew  grave  again.  "  There 's 


42  THE    CIRCLE 

a  room  waiting  to  be  used;  there's  father  grow- 
ing more  forgetful  every  day  ;  there  's  the  shop  want- 
ing more  care.  Oh,  you  would  n't  be  an  idler  —  I 
can  promise  you  that.11  She  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  unsteadily,  then  let  it  drop.  "  One 
thing  prevents."" 

"  Johann  !  "     Her  voice  fell. 

He  rose  abruptly,  thrust  his  hand  inside  his  shirt, 
and  held  something  to  the  light. 

"  Johann  ! "  she  said  again,  but  in  an  altered  voice. 
The  object  in  his  hand  shone  with  a  peculiar  pinkish 
glow.  "  Oh,  Johann,  it 's  very,  very  fine  ! " 

"  If  I  were  to  stay,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  this  would 
burn  into  me  —  little  at  first,  greater  afterwards  — 
until,  to  myself,  I  became  a  thief."  He  turned  his 
eyes  from  the  jewel  to  her  face,  from  her  face  back 
again.  "  What  can  I  do  with  it?  What  am  I  to 
do?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  space,  then  she  glanced  up. 
"  There  are  two  places  that  it  can  go  to.  Back  to 
Vienna,"  Johann  shivered,  "  or  to  the  place  in  Lon- 
don where  the  others  should  have  gone.  Is  n't  that 
right  ?  " 

He  cowered  again.  "  Oh,  but  I  dare  not.  I  dare 
not!" 

"  There  is  the  post." 

"  No,  no.  Packets  are  traced  ;  letters  are  traced." 
He  moved  uneasily  about  the  room. 

Anna  knelt  on  the  wooden  chair  —  her  elbows 
resting  on  the  back.  "Johann,"  she  said. 


THE    CIRCLE  43 

He  turned  to  her. 

"  You  trust  me,  don't  you  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  eloquent. 

"  Say  it  in  words." 

"I  trust  you!" 

"  That  ""s  right !  Now  listen.  1 11  take  your  jewel 
to  the  house  where  the  others  should  have  gone."" 

"  Anna !  " 

"  Yes.  Don't  say  anything.  1 11  take  it."  Her 
voice  quickened  ;  she  suddenly  knelt  up.  "  Johann, 
say  that  I  can  go  ?  "  The  strength  of  her  anticipa- 
tion flashed  across  her  eyes  ;  the  force  of  her  excite- 
ment passed  unconsciously  to  the  man.  He  moved 
towards  her,  his  face  lighted  by  a  new  hope. 

"  It  would  mean  peace  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  't  would  mean  peace."  She  grasped  at  the 
word.  "  T  would  mean  peace  for  you,  Johann,  and 
—  and  who  knows  what  for  me  ? "  She  laughed 
afresh  and  leant  towards  him.  "  Say  *  I  trust  you  ! ' 
again." 

He  moved  awkwardly  to  the  dresser  and  touched 
the  plates  as  he  had  done  before ;  then  he  turned. 
"  I  trust  you  !  And  —  and  I  can  never  forget." 


PART  ONE— CHAPTER   Vll 

COUNTING  by  human  grades,  the  journey 
from  the  southeast  to  the  west  of  London 
is  longer  than  the  crossing  of  the  desert. 
To  Anna  it  was  the  momentous  under- 
taking of  her  life.     Pursued  part  of  the  way  on  foot 
and  part  by  omnibus,  it  held  her  spell-bound  with 
interest  and  delight. 

First  came  the  by-ways,  the  intricate  streets  with 
their  jutting  houses  that  had  been  familiar  to  her  all 
her  life ;  then  the  gradually  widening  thoroughfares, 
the  warehouses,  the  atmosphere  of  steady  commerce, 
the  sense  of  colossal  enterprise;  lastly,  after  many 
intermediate  phases,  hundreds  of  graduating  shades, 
the  West  End  itself — the  throngs  of  people,  the 
glitter  of  shops,  the  colour  and  movement  and 
exhilaration,  the  surface  suggestion  of  life  without 
a  care,  so  novel  to  one  bred  in  the  ways  of  toil.  It 
fascinated  and  drew  her  forcibly ;  for  a  time  it 
caused  her  to  forget  her  errand  and  to  loiter  in 
the  crowd,  as,  dismounting  from  one  omnibus,  she 
waited  for  the  next  that  was  to  take  her  on  her  way. 
But  the  defection  was  only  momentary  ;  with  a  little 
gasp  she  recognised  her  conveyance,  tightened  her 
fingers  round  the  small  linen  bag  she  carried  in 


THE    CIRCLE  45 

her  hand,  and  an  instant  later  was  hauled  on  to  the 
step  by  an  irritated  conductor. 

Seated  on  the  top  of  the  omnibus,  her  interests 
became  personal  again  :  blurring  her  eyes,  she  let 
her  thoughts  steep  themselves  in  consideration  of 
what  was  still  to  come.  For  ten  minutes  the  day- 
dream lasted  ;  then  her  gaze  concentrated  and  with 
a  sting  of  reality  she  came  back  to  facts.  On  one 
hand,  as  the  horses  carried  her  soberly  forward,  lay 
the  park,  stretching  away  in  illimitable  stillness,  the 
cropped  grass  still  green,  the  bare  tree-trunks,  black 
.  .id  mysterious  against  a  background  of  fog ;  on  the 
other,  the  tall,  irregular  houses  with  their  aloofness, 
their  air  of  subdued  well-being.  The  whole  struck 
on  her  with  the  suddenness  of  unreckoned-with 
things ;  the  sense  of  a  world  widely  separate  from 
her  own  fell  on  her  with  force.  She  leant  forward 
agitatedly  and  touched  the  driver's  arm. 

"  Put  me  down  at  Palace  Court."  The  sound  of 
her  own  voice  disconcerted  her  afresh. 

The  man  nodded,  and  it  seemed  that  the  harness 
jingled  louder  as  they  swung  steadily  along.  She 
wondered  why  anything  so  common  as  a  'bus  was 
allowed  to  pass  that  way.  After  two  minutes1  wait 
she  leant  out  again. 

"  Is  it  near  ?  " 

He  pointed  with  his  whip,  and  all  at  once  her 
breath  seemed  to  leave  her  throat.  A  moment  later 
the  horses  were  pulled  up;  she  rose,  her  heart  beat- 
ing violently,  her  hand  grasping  the  little  bag,  and 


46  THE   CIRCLE 

descended  the  steps  with  headlong  speed.  Almost 
before  she  was  aware,  she  was  standing  alone  in  the 
roadway,  watching  the  omnibus  lurch  placidly  out 
of  sight.  Then  she  walked  to  the  foot-path  and 
considered  her  next  act. 

She  drew  a  slip  of  paper  from  her  pocket,  read  it 
carefully  and  glanced  at  the  indicated  house  ;  then 
quite  slowly  her  gaze  travelled  to  her  dress  of  coarse 
brown  serge,  and  she  became  alive  to  the  strongest 
temptation  that  had  assailed  her  yet  —  the  tempta- 
tion to  run  away.  The  inclination  was  so  compel- 
ling that  she  turned  involuntarily  and  walked  for 
a  couple  of  yards ;  then  the  face  of  Johann,  pale 
and  nervous,  rose  before  her,  and  she  stood  very 
still.  It  was  a  trust !  She  turned  back  ;  her  steps 
dragged  but  did  not  swerve,  she  reached  the  house 
without  a  halt ;  there,  setting  her  lips,  she  followed 
the  advice  on  the  unfamiliar  bell  —  and  pressed. 

Far  inside  the  house  she  heard  a  whizzing  sound, 
and  as  she  waited  a  lightness  stole  through  her,  a 
fresh  sense  of  nervous  anticipation  that  was  entirely 
new.  The  time  seemed  interminable  ;  then  at  last 
the  door  swung  softly  back  and  she  turned  round. 
A  manservant  was  gazing  at  her  with  inquisitive 
eyes. 

The  contact  with  a  human  presence  braced  her  ; 
the  trepidation  vanished  and  her  courage  came  creep- 
ing back. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Maxtead  live  here  ?  "  she  asked.  Her 
glance  was  level  and  direct ;  but  the  man  seemed  lost 


THE    CIRCLE  47 

hi  his  scrutiny  and  she  lifted  her  head.  "  Please  be 
quick ! "  she  added.  "  I  have  no  time  to  waste." 

He  eyed  her  while  he  prepared  a  retort ;  then  he 
smiled.  "  Time  must  be  valuable  where  you  come 
from,""  he  said. 

The  blood  flew  to  her  face  and  her  lip  trembled. 
"  It  is,"  she  said,  after  a  pause.  "  There  servants 
have  no  time  to  speak;  they  have  only  time  to 
work.  Tell  Mrs.  Maxtead  I  want  to  see  her.  Tell 
her  at  once."  Her  voice  rose. 

For  a  second  the  man's  dignity  choked  him ;  then 
he  subdued  it.  "  Mrs.  Maxtead  is  not  at  home." 

Anna's  lips  parted,  but  quite  as  swiftly  they  closed 
again  ;  and  at  the  same  instant  the  man  straightened 
himself.  From  behind  a  curtain  on  the  right  of  the 
hall  came  the  sound  of  a  bell,  imperatively  rung. 

"  Stand  in  for  a  minute,"  he  said ;  "  and  keep  on 
the  mat."  He  glanced  doubtfully  at  her  boots ; 
then  swiftly  shutting  the  hall  door,  he  turned  and 
disappeared  behind  the  curtain. 

For  Anna  there  followed  a  difficult  moment,  a 
moment  in  which  she  hung  between  a  desire  to  cry 
and  a  fresh  longing  to  turn  and  fly.  Then  swiftly  — 
as  such  things  occasionally  occur  —  she  forgot  her 
impulses,  forgot  her  own  existence  even,  in  the  sudden 
fascination  of  something  quite  apart.  From  behind 
the  curtain  came  the  sound  of  a  voice  —  the  first  cul- 
tured woman's  voice  she  had  ever  heard  —  and  strong 
as  a  flame  her  power  of  appreciation  sprang  into  life. 
She  stood  breathless,  attentive  to  every  word. 


48  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Who  is  it,  Branks  ?  Someone  for  me  ?  "  The 
voice  was  like  water  rippling  under  moss. 

"  A  young  woman,  ma'am."  The  alteration  in  the 
man's  tone  was  notable.  For  the  first  time  Anna 
realised  the  gulf  of  class. 

"  What  does  she  want  ?     What  does  she  say  ?  " 

"  That  she  must  see  you,  ma'am  ;  she  says  noth- 
ing more." 

The  owner  of  the  voice  laughed — a  cool,  well- 
bred  laugh.  "  You  must  make  her  say." 

"  Yes,  ma'am.'* 

"  Branks  —  wait !  "  The  voice  seemed  to  linger 
and  hesitate.  "  Is  she  —  a  common  person  ?  " 

Anna  drew  back  a  step ;  for  a  second  she  hung  in 
dire  suspense.  Then  Branks  replied. 

"  Well,  ma'am  —  "  He  considered.  "  Her  clothes 
are  shabby  ;  but  she  has  a  way  —  if  I  might  say  it, 
ma'am,  a  domineering-ordering  way." 

"  Ah  ? "  The  inflection  was  very  faint.  "  You 
may  show  her  in.  Yes  —  in  here ;  I  '11  see  her  here. 
One's  curiosity  is  so  seldom  touched." 

"  Yes,  ma'am."     Branks  deferentially  withdrew. 

In  the  hall  he  turned  to  Anna  ;  she  noticed  that 
he  still  held  himself  very  straight. 

"You  may  follow  me,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
sounded  pompous  and  aggrieved.  A  second  later, 
with  the  clatter  of  brass  rings,  he  drew  the  curtain 
back. 


PART  ONE— CHAPTER   VIII 

IN  the  room  there    was  a  toning  of  rose  and 
mauve ;  a  toning  that  reminded  Anna  of  John 
Desinski,  and  the  colour  schemes   over  which 
he  used  to  rave  in  the  attic  above  the  shop. 
It  was  an  instinctive  remembrance,  but  instinctively 
it  linked  this  other  life  with  hers  ;  and  unconsciously 
she   found  the  balance  of  incidents    as  she  passed 
through  the  door. 

A  small  table  was  drawn  luxuriously  near  the 
fire,  and  the  suggestion  of  lunch  was  still  visible  in 
the  disorder  of  silver  and  glass.  The  occupant  of 
the  room  raised  her  head,  and  disappointment  was  the 
first  feeling  that  sped  through  Annans  mind.  The 
beautiful  voice  did  not  belong  to  a  beautiful  face. 
She  paused  almost  disconcerted ;  then  a  second  ex- 
pression, the  stealing  of  a  fresh  impression  crossed 
her  eyes,  and  she  moved  on  again. 

The  owner  of  the  voice  looked  up.  "  You  must  n't 
hesitate,"  she  said.  "  I  have  finished  my  lunch  — 
quite.""  She  pushed  back  her  chair  and  laid  down 
the  book  that  she  was  holding.  She  was  a  woman  of 
thirty  with  dark  hair  and  delicate  skin,  but  with  eyes 
that  were  almost  unfeminine  in  their  restless  glance. 
A  woman  devoid  of  good  looks,  but  with  a  personal- 


50  THE    CIRCLE 

ity  and  a  distinction  that  were  magnetic  —  a  woman 
who  need  never  fear  a  crowd. 

Without  understanding,  Anna  felt  something  of 
this.  She  moved  forward  mechanically,  studying 
the  face  before  her  line  by  line ;  at  last  she  rested 
her  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  spoke. 

"It's  quite  wonderful,"  she  said  thoughtfully, 
"how  you  suit  your  voice.  If  you'd  been  pretty 
you  would  n't  have  suited  it  half  so  well  —  not  half 
so  well.1* 

Mrs.  Maxtead  stared  ;  then  she  laughed.  "  Branks 
was  correct,""  she  said,  looking  at  the  girl.  "You 
certainly  have  —  a  way.  Where  in  the  world  do  you 
come  from  ?  I  thought  they  had  ceased  to  manu- 
facture in  the  original,  nowadays.1" 

Anna  blushed,  then  moved  uncertainly.  "  You 
must  n't  ask  me  that,"  she  said.  "  I  have  promised, 
at  least  — "  She  stumbled  at  the  words.  "  My 
father  came  from  Russia,  years  ago,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean,"  she  added  in  a  courteous  after 
thought. 

The  other  laughed  again,  and  a  faint  irony  under  - 
ran  the  softness  of  the  sound ;  a  tone  that  caught 
one  up  with  a  sting  of  interest  at  its  start  and  lulled 
one  into  forgetfulness  at  its  fall;  a  curious  effect 
of  salt  and  sweet  that  tingled  the  senses  into  activ- 
ity and  left  them  anxious  for  what  was  yet  to 
come. 

"  I  thought  it  was  n't  quite  the  English  type,"  she 
said  slowly.  "  The  English  type  has  such  a  tendency 


THE    CIRCLE  51 

to  knock  at  doors.  Now  you  would  never  knock  at 
a  door  —  if  you  wanted  to  get  in  ?  " 

Anna  considered.  "  I  think  it  would  depend,1'  she 
said  truthfully.  "  If  it  were  a  man's  door,  I  think  I 
should  knock." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  lay  back  in  her  chair.  "  You  irre- 
sistible child  !  Come  and  have  some  coffee  ?  I  could 
sit  and  ask  you  things  for  hours.1" 

Anna  moved,  then  paused.  "  But  —  "  she  began, 
"but  —  " 

"  My  dear  child,  there  is  no  such  word.  Come  ! 
The  coffee  is  quite  hot ;  and  there  are  years  in  which 
to  tell  me  what  you  want."  She  drew  forward  a  low 
stool  with  a  brocaded  cushion  and  set  it  beside  her 
chair.  "  This  ought  to  suit  you  —  you  have  the  see- 
ing eyes.11  She  smiled.  "  You  should  sit  low  down 
in  front  of  a  fire  with  your  hands  about  your  knees, 
and  see  castles  and  dream  dreams.  You  do  it,  I 
know." 

A  slight  wonder  spread  over  Anna's  face.  "  Don't 
you  —  see  pictures  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I !  My  dear  child,  I  find  too  many  things  to 
see  in  life.  I  might  gaze  into  the  fire  for  minutes, 
but  I  ?d  only  calculate  the  amount  of  cinders  my  coal 
merchant  makes  his  profit  by.  I  am  hopelessly  com- 
mercial, you  see  —  to  the  finger-tips."  She  laughed 
and  spread  her  hands  to  the  blaze.  They  were  per- 
fect in  shape,  but,  like  all  that  surrounded  her,  they 
gave  their  own  peculiar  sense  of  fineness  underlaid  by 
steel.  The  impression  was  distinct ;  it  gave  Anna  a 


52  THE    CIRCLE 

little  thrill,  and  sent  the  recollection  of  her  errand 
flashing  back  upon  her  with  double  force.  She  took 
the  proffered  seat,  then  resolutely  looked  up  into  her 
companion's  face. 

"  Mrs.  Maxtead,"  she  said  ;  then  she  waited,  for 
there  was  an  uncontrollable  tremor  in  her  voice.  It 
was  well  enough  to  rehearse  the  scene  in  the  raw  air 
or  in  the  dust  and  shadow  of  the  shop,  but  its  real- 
ity was  disconcerting.  She  had  made  no  allowance 
for  a  listener  with  a  manner  perfectly  even,  perfectly 
and  coolly  sweet,  but  with  eyes  that  seemed  to 
run  through  the  mind  and  pigeonhole  the  thoughts 
before  they  could  spring  to  words.  It  was  more 
than  disconcerting.  She  squeezed  the  little  bag 
hidden  in  the  palm  of  her  hand  and  made  a  new 
start. 

"  You  are  expecting  jewels  from  Vienna  —  pink 
topaz  jewels  with  pearl  and  diamond  rims."  She 
stopped.  The  plunge  was  taken  and  she  felt  like  the 
swimmer  who,  rising  to  the  top  of  the  water,  shakes 
the  spray  from  his  eyes  and  looks  about.  She  looked 
round,  wondering  how  big  the  splash  had  been. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  looking  at  her ;  her  eyes  were 
narrowed  and  glittering  with  interest,  but  her  face 
was  quite  unmoved. 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  said  in  ever  so  still  a  voice  ;  then  she 
paused. 

Anna  found  the  pause  more  difficult  than  the  word. 
She  pushed  back  her  stool  and  rose. 

"Well,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "you  will  never  get 


THE    CIRCLE  53 

those  stones  —  they  have  been  stolen  —  they  are 
gone.""  She  drew  a  gasping  breath ;  she  felt  as 
though  someone  must  strike  her  —  a  curious  sensa- 
tion that  caused  her  to  draw  back  a  step  and  half 
raise  her  hand. 

But  Mrs;  Maxtead  was  unmoved.  "  Well  ?  "  she 
said  as  quietly  as  before. 

Anna  looked  desperately  round  :  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  tense  calm  she  felt  that  she  was  losing  hold. 
"  You  must  n't  ask  me  any  questions,""  she  cried ; 
"  you  must  n't  ask  me  a  thing  —  not  a  thing.  I  can 
only  tell  you  the  stones  are  gone ;  that  they  Ve 
been  stolen  —  all  of  them  but  one,  and  that 
one  —  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  position  never  altered,  but  her 
eyes  concentrated  into  a  question,  and  the  fingers 
that  held  her  coffee-cup  looked  stiff  where  their 
pressure  showed.  She  reminded  Anna  of  a  stealthily 
watchful  cat. 

"  You  must  think  me  a  very  silly  woman,"  she  said. 
"  Do  you  know  that  I  am  twice  your  age  ?  " 

Anna  clasped  her  hands.  "  I  have  n't  thought  of 
—  of  anything,"  she  said.  "  I  only  know  that  you  will 
never  see  any  of  your  jewels  except  —  except  this  one 
that  I  have  brought  you  back."  Her  face  was  scarlet 
with  excitement;  she  tried  to  open  the  little  bag, 
but  her  hands  shook.  "  It  came  to  me  —  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  ;  and  't  was  my  duty  —  't  was  my  duty 
to  bring  it  back."  Her  voice  as  well  as  her  fingers 
were  shaking.  Her  companion's  eyes  were  on  her  face. 


54  THE   CIRCLE 

"  Who  told  you  where  to  bring  it  ? "  The  voice 
was  like  the  crisp  breaking  of  ice. 

"  I  cannat  tell  you  that."" 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  compel  you  ? " 

"You  could  n't  compel  me."1     Anna  looked  up. 

"I  don't  ino\v.  There  are  some  very  efficient 
ways." 

Anna  suddenly  raised  her  head,  and  at  the  same 
instant  the  string  of  the  bag  came  undone.  "  No 
one  could  make  me  say,"  she  said.  "  I  think  you 
know  that  as  well  —  as  well  as  if  you  were  me." 
The  look  in  her  eyes  was  not  a  common  look,  her 
voice  was  fearless  and  clear.  With  a  swift  move- 
ment she  tore  the  clasp  from  its  covering  and  held 
it  out.  «  Take  it ! "  she  said. 

Still  Mrs.  Maxtead  was  immovable,  not  even  her 
eyelids  stirred.  She  was  watching  the  girl  with  a 
quiet,  alert  gaze. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  it  ?  Why  don't  you 
take  it?" 

"  Because  I  am  thinking  of  something  else." 

Anna  threw  the  clasp  upon  the  table.  "  Well,  I  've 
done  it.  I  can  go  now."  She  walked  to  the  door. 

"  Wait  for  a  minute."  The  voice  was  essentially 
persuasive.  The  girl  paused.  "  Would  you  like  to 
know  what  my  thought  was  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

She  turned.  "  I  'd  like  to  know  why  you  pre- 
tended not  to  see  the  clasp." 


THE    CIRCLE  55 

tt  It  was  not  pretence." 

"Then  what?1' 

"  I  saw  something  that  interested  me  more.'" 

Anna  moved  away  again.  "You  are  laughing," 
she  said. 

"  Yes  —  at  myself."  The  woman  raised  her  bril- 
liant eyes  and  opened  them  wide.  "  I  have  lost  — 
or  you  tell  me  I  have  lost  —  a  present  worth  hun- 
dreds of  pounds.  Being  a  woman,  I  should  go 
into  hysterics,  instead  of  which,  contrary  to  all 
traditions,  I  feel  a  new  interest  and  a  new  energy 
flowing  through  me  by  quite  a  new  gate.  I  see 
possibilities  and  I  want  to  grasp  them.  You  don't 
understand  ?  Of  course  you  don't.  They  are  all 
wrapped  up  in  haze  like  the  rising  sun."  She 
laughed  and  moved  forward,  her  voice  as  soft  as 
the  rustle  of  her  dress.  "  You  have  shown  me 
more  than  the  jewel,"  she  said,  "  a  good  deal  more, 
and  you  have  made  me  greedy  to  increase  my  knowl- 
edge. I  wonder  whether  you  would  come  to  me 
again  —  if  I  were  to  ask  ?  "  She  laid  her  hands  with 
their  firm  pressure  on  the  girl's  arm.  "  Come  and 
see  me  again  ?  "  She  raised  her  eyebrows  in  question 
and  smiled. 

For  a  moment  Anna's  pride  wavered.  She  looked 
across  the  room  at  the  costly  furniture,  then  down  at 
her  hostess's  dress  ;  then  at  last  she  raised  her  eyes. 
"  I  think  I  'd  love  to  come,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  are  not  too  angry  to  shake  hands  ?  " 

*  I  'na  not  vexed  at  all  —  now."     Her  fingers  re- 


56  THE    CIRCLE 

turned  the  other's  pressure.  "  I  shall  come  —  when- 
ever you  like." 

"  Say  this  day  next  week  ?  " 

"  This  day  next  week."  Like  a  dream  she  saw  the 
curtain  swing  back,  and  like  a  dream  she  saw  Branks 
open  the  hall  door  ;  then  the  cool,  keen  air  blew 
across  her  face,  whipping  back  the  recollection  of 
herself. 

Inside  the  room  of  pink  lights  and  mauve  shadows, 
Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  to  and  fro.  Before  the  hall 
door  had  closed  her  hand  was  on  the  bell ;  a  moment 
later  Branks  was  in  the  room. 

"  Where  is  Celeste  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  In  your  room,  ma'am."  It  was  only  on  occasion 
that  Branks  heard  the  ring,  resembling  the  ring  of 
steel,  in  his  mistress's  voice,  but  he  knew  it  well 
enough  to  be  swift  in  his  response. 

"  Let  her  put  on  her  hat,  and  send  her  to  me 
here." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"And,  Branks  —  remember  there  is  always  time 
for  gossip  later  on." 

"  Yes,  ma'am."     Branks  retired. 

Twice  Mrs.  Maxtead  walked  from  the  fire  to  the 
window  and  back  again ;  her  glance  flitted  from 
place  to  place  ;  her  fingers  seemed  trembling  to  act. 
At  last  she  stopped  by  the  over  mantel. 

"  It  is  a  look  in  itself,"  she  said  suddenly  and  aloud  ; 
"  a  look  quite  in  itself.  This  man  has  it  —  "  She 


THE    CIRCLE  57 

picked  up  a  photograph  and  studied  it  intently  ;  it 
was  the  picture  of  a  musician  who  had  made  the 
whole  world  turn  round.  "Catrina  Lotz  had  it; 
Leone  Perez  had  it ;  and  it  was  in  the  girl's  eyes  as 
she  threw  up  her  head  —  I  'm  sure  it  was.  It  is  in- 
spiration —  whatever  its  output,  whatever  its  groove." 
She  pressed  her  finger-tips  excitedly  on  the  mantel- 
shelf. "  Inspiration  !  "  she  said  below  her  breath. 
"  The  one  thing  to  set  a  match  to  the  world  —  the 
one  thing  that  really  lights.""  Her  hands  dropped 
to  her  sides. 

"  Ah,  Celeste !  "  she  said,  as  she  turned  round. 


PART  ONE  — CHAPTER  IX 

IT  was  late  afternoon  when  Anna  entered  the 
shop.     Johann  looked  up,  the  duster  in  his 
hand  fell  to  the  ground,  and  he  leant  back 
against  the  counter. 
"  Well  ?  "  he  said. 

She  walked  up  to  him,  took  off  her  hat  and  threw 
it  into  a  corner ;  then  sprang  on  to  the  counter  and 
sat  swinging  her  feet.  The  dusk  had  fallen  heavily, 
and  the  ill-smelling  oil  lamp  had  not  yet  heen  lit ; 
only  the  tiny  candle  in  Solny's  office  shed  a  wavering 
gleam.  Her  face  was  in  full  shadow,  but  even  in  the 
shadow  Johann  felt  the  light  that  her  presence  made 
—  the  inimitable  flash  of  youth  and  exhilaration  that 
no  after  time  can  reproduce.  Instinctively  he  hung 
his  head. 

There  followed  a  full,  momentous  pause  which  the 
scratching  of  old  Solny's  pen  inadequately  filled.  At 
last  she  leant  forward  and  laying  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  turned  his  face  slowly  round  to  hers. 
"  Johann,'1  she  whispered  rapturously,  "  I  have  seen 
it!  Think  of  it  — I  have  seen  it  at  last!"  She 
swayed  back  and  forward,  little  gasps  of  delighted 
laughter  slipping  in  between  her  words.  "  Oh, 
Johann  !  Johann  ! " 


THE    CIRCLE  59 

He  drew  back.  "  Seen  what  ? "  His  voice  was 
timorously  low. 

"  Why,  life,  of  course  !  Life !  "  She  shook  him  a 
little,  then  looked  away  into  the  darkness  over  his 
head.  "  Oh,  Johann,  but  it  is  fine !  They  have 
silver  dishes  to  eat  from,  and  carpets  like  moss  ;  and 
—  and  everything  that  isn't  glittery  is  silk  — "  She 
stopped  to  catch  her  breath. 

"  Yes  —  and  the  clasp  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  The  clasp.  Why,  she  has  rings 
that  flash  like  twenty  clasps."  She  dismissed  the 
subject  summarily  and  returned  to  her  train  of 
thought.  "  She  gave  me  coffee  in  little  gilded  cups 
that  father  would  have  died  of  envy  for ;  she  made 
me  sit  on  an  inlaid  stool,  and — oh,  Johann,  it  was 
too  lovely  !  It  was  too  lovely  !  "  She  clasped  her 
hands.  "  I  ran  most  of  the  way  home.  It  was  too 
wonderful  to  sit  quite  still." 

There  was  a  fresh  wait,  then  Johann  spoke  dully. 
"  I  shall  light  the  lamp,"  he  said. 

"  The  lamp !  Oh,  Johann,  no.  It  makes  the 
place  so  stuffy,  and  I  burn.  Feel !  "  She  raised  one 
of  his  hands  and  put  it  against  her  cheek.  "  Let 's 
sit  here  in  the  dark  —  and  talk  ?  " 

He  made  no  response. 

"  Johann." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  silent  —  or  sad.  Johann  !  "  She  slipped 
to  the  ground.  "  You  don't  ask  things.  You  are  n't 
excited  a  bit ;  you  are  n't  glad."  Her  voice  fell. 


60  THE    CIRCLE 

But  the  silence  continued. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  It  is  nothing  —  nothing  —  "  He  moved  away 
from  her.  Somewhere  in  his  heart  there  was  a  dread 
—  a  dread  in  whose  shadow  his  own  inefficiency,  his 
own  pitiable  terrors  became  very  dwarfed.  "  I  am 
stupid,"  he  said  below  his  breath.  "  I  do  not  know 
what  to  ask.  I  would  ask  — I  would  ask,  if  I  knew."" 
He  turned  again  abruptly,  trying  to  see  her  face. 

But  she  missed  his  mood.  When  one  is  young  it 
is  hard  to  be  anything  beside  ;  youth  is  all-embracing 
in  its  demands.  The  whole  world  to  her  eyes  was  a 
blur  of  rose  and  mauve.  She  laid  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders  again  and  laughed. 

"  You  dear  stupid  thing  !  "  she  said.  "  You  dear 
stupid  thing  !  How  I  'd  like  to  wake  you  up  !  You 
are  dull  to-night,  and  I  could  sing  and  run  and  be 
mad  —  the  world  is  so  good." 

"  The  world  is  a  child's  puzzle,"  he  said  sadly,  "  it 
has  two  sides." 

She  caught  him  up  swiftly.  "  If  it  has  two  sides, 
then  we  can  turn  up  which  we  like ;  you  have  de- 
feated yourself ! "  She  laughed  again.  She  was 
like  a  young  horse  set  loose  in  a  wide  field  ;  there 
was  a  space  in  things  that  she  had  not  realised 
before.  Her  exuberance  of  spirit  rose  up,  demand- 
ing vent.  "  Oh,  Johann,"  she  cried,  "  it  is  more 
splendid  than  I  ever  dreamt.  When  I  was  little,  I 
fancied  that  this  street  was  the  whole  world  —  that 
there  was  nothing  else  beyond.  Then  one  day,  John 


THE    CIRCLE  61 

Desinski  took  me  with  him  into  the  city  and  I 
understood.  I  was  very  little  then,  but  nothing 
frightened  me  —  not  the  cabs  nor  the  horses  nor  the 

o 

crowds.  I  only  wanted  to  drive  the  horses  for  my- 
self; to  grow  up  quickly  and  be  one  of  the  people 
who  jostled  and  pushed.  To-night  it *s  the  same  ! " 
Her  voice  lifted  and  fell  with  her  words ;  Johanivs 
visionary  shadow  dropped  on  him  again.  He  jerked 
his  shoulders  from  her  touch  and  walked  away. 

For  an  instant  she  swayed  in  his  direction,  then 
some  remembrance  of  the  day  struck  her  still  again, 
and  she  stayed  motionless  with  widely  opened  eyes. 
The  dim  shop  became  a  palace  from  which  at  any 
moment  the  mysterious  veil  might  lift,  her  father's 
pen  the  quill  of  some  recording  deity,  and  Johann  — 
poor,  deformed  Johann  —  no  more  than  the  spectre 
outside  the  gates.  She  stood  immovable,  wrapped 
within  herself. 

Five  minutes  drew  slowly  out,  then  Johann  crept 
back  to  her  again  and  touched  her  hand.  His 
presence  came  with  a  jerk ;  she  drew  back,  then 
laughed. 

"  Johann,  you  frightened  me !  You  crawl  so  in 
the  dark." 

He  murmured  inaudibly,  then  raised  his  voice, 
"  Anna,  I  have  been  wondering  —  " 

"What?" 

He  shuffled  with  his  feet.  "  I  have  been  thinking 
—  wondering — n  He  halted.  "It  never  comes  to 
you  that  you  will  leave  the  shop  one  day  ?  " 


62  THE    CIRCLE 

She  peered  at  him  through  the  gloom.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  such  silly  things  ? "  Six  hours  before  she 
would  have  answered  his  question  with  a  laugh,  now 
she  halted  over  her  reply.  To  herself  the  hesitation 
passed  unseen,  but  it  gripped  at  Johann's  heart.  He 
broke  headlong  in  upon  her  words. 

"  I  was  foolish,  Anna ;  it  was  the  sadness  of  the 
dusk.  It  was  the  thought  of  your  —  your  brightness 
and  the  other  thought.  Forget  that  I  spoke.""  He 
made  a  strenuous  attempt  to  laugh. 

But  Anna  was  silent ;  when  she  spoke  again  her 
voice  was  tentative  and  still.  "Johann,"  she  said 
very  softly,  "  do  you  really  think  that  I  could  for- 
get that  father  is  quite  old  —  that  the  shop  —  that 
you  — "  She  stopped,  and  there  was  a  question 
in  her  attitude  as  she  leant  towards  him.  Then 
abruptly  and  characteristically  she  lifted  her  head 
and  sprang  back  to  her  former  seat.  "Johann," 
she  cried,  "  you  are  right  —  quite  right !  One  does 
grow  silly  in  the  dark.  Light  the  lamp ! " 


PART    ONE— CHAPTER    X 

IT  was  seven  days  later.  Mrs.  Maxtead  was 
standing  by  the  mantelpiece  when  the  cur- 
tain was  drawn  back  and  Anna,  smiling  and 
radiant,  walked  into  the  room.  She  watched 
her  enter  with  an  expression  that  was  impossible  to 
read ;  her  eyes  were  cold  and  bright ;  in  her  hand 
she  held  the  musician's  photograph.  She  laid  the 
picture  in  its  place,  then  she  smiled  and  put  out  her 
hand. 

"  I  had  almost  begun  to  wonder  whether  you 
would  come  —  though  your  voice  should  have  made 
me  know." 

"  My  voice  ?  "     Anna  took  the  extended  hand. 

"  Yes.  You  are  original  enough  to  have  a  candid 
voice.  But  you  are  cold.  Come  to  the  fire.""  With 
perfect  graciousness  she  continued  to  hold  the  girl's 
hand  —  drawing  her  gently  closer,  till  they  stood 
side  by  side. 

"Now  warm  yourself.  Is  it  snowing  again?  I 
never  look  through  windows  in  winter  time.1" 

Anna  did  not  answer.  She  was  noting  little 
changes,  storing  material  for  future  dreams.  She 
saw  with  a  pang,  half  pain,  half  admiration,  that  her 
hostess  wore  a  different  and  more  elaborate  dress ; 


64  THE    CIRCLE 

she  noticed  that  books  and  flowers  had  both  been 
changed,  and  that  a  deep  settee  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  luncheon-table  before  the  fire.  It  was  quite 
a  minute  before  she  raised  her  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  why  you  care  to  have  me,"  she  said  at 
length. 

For  an  instant  their  glances  met,  and  they  studied 
each  other  with  that  look  so  peculiar  to  the  moment 
and  to  their  sex.  The  first  acquaintance  of  women 
resembles  a  shooting  plant.  The  bare  bough  is  rife 
with  promise  ;  from  its  brownness  may  spring  flowers 
or  thorns,  according  as  the  sun  shines  or  the  wind 
cuts  ;  but  for  the  moment  —  the  all-pervading  mo- 
ment —  it  is  a  bare  bough  and  nothing  more.  They 
watched  each  other  for  a  moment ;  then  the  elder 
shook  things  into  their  groove  with  a  laugh. 

"  We  shall  be  friends,""  she  said.  "  I  have  an 
instinct  that  is  never  quite  astray."  Her  eyes  con- 
tinued to  rest  on  the  girl's  face,  but  their  glance 
softened  and  deepened  in  a  way  that  was  more 
eloquent  than  sound. 

Anna,  who  was  usually  restive  under  flattery,  re- 
sponded to  the  look  as  to  a  ray  of  warmth.  "  You 
are  kind,"  she  said  suddenly  ;  "  as  kind  as  you  are  — 
clever."  There  was  a  ring  of  admiration  on  the 
final  word. 

"  Clever ! "  The  other  laughed.  "  My  dear  child, 
how  much  you  have  to  learn  ! "  She  dropped  the 
hand  that  she  was  holding  and  moved  away  ;  then 
she  turned  again,  a  new  expression  on  her  face.  She 


THE  CIRCLE  65 

had  the  invaluable  gift  of  choosing  the  moment: 
with  her,  confidence  was  ever  a  bid  for  something 
higher  —  rarely  a  futile  one.  She  chose  her  words 
now  with  a  critical  perception  of  her  listener's  mind 
—  chose  them  slowly,  with  infinite  care.  "  My  dear 
little  girl,"  she  said,  "  there  are  two  classes  of  people 
in  the  world  —  the  people  who  are  clever,  and  the 
people  who  are  keen  —  and  you  must  never  mix  the 
two;  they  meet  and  touch,  they  are  necessary  to 
each  other,  but  they  never,  never  blend.  Sit  down ! 
You  will  be  tired."  Her  voice  changed  on  a  new 
sentence  with  extreme  rapidity,  though  never  en- 
croaching on  the  principle  of  her  theme.  She  gave 
Anna  one  of  her  sudden  smiles,  then  turned  again 
to  the  fire,  her  glance  straying  restlessly  from  che 
burning  logs  to  the  toe  of  her  slipper  as  it  rested 
on  the  fender. 

"  It  is  just  four  years  since  I  sorted  my  capacities 
and  classed  myself.  Some  people  find  the  process 
difficult ;  it  came  rather  easily  to  me.r 

Anna  looked  up  from  the  settee.  She  was  vividly 
enthralled  and  feared  to  break  the  enchantment  even 
by  a  breath.  She  was  raised  to  an  altitude  where 
the  air  was  difficult  and  rarefied,  where  she  scarcely 
acknowledged  her  own  being. 

Mrs.  Maxtead,  gazing  abstractedly  into  the  over- 
mantel mirror,  studied  the  excited  face  and  smiled 
cautiously.  When  she  spoke  again,  there  was  a 
faintly  deprecating  tone  running  with  her  v.oixls. 

"  I  was  twenty-five  when  my  husband  died,  leaving 
6 


66  THE  CIRCLE 

me  with  hundreds  of  acquaintances  and  a  thousand, 
pounds  a  year.1"  She  stopped  again,  and  picking 
up  the  photograph  that  she  had  touched  before, 
made  it  a  screen  to  shield  her  face.  "Now  with 
a  thousand  pounds  a  year  one  is  barely  rich  enough 
to  have  desires."  She  turned  with  an  ironical 
glance. 

Anna  looked  up  dreamily.  She  followed  the 
sense  of  the  words  vaguely,  as  one  follows  the  story 
of  an  opera.  It  was  the  necessary  adjunct  to  the 
magnetic  voice,  as  the  argument  is  the  immaterial 
adjunct  to  the  music.  It  gave  her  the  opportunity 
to  listen. 

"  Please  talk  on,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laid  down  the  photograph  as  she 
had  done  before,  and  crossed  to  the  girl's  side.  tk  It 
is  very  seldom  that  I  talk  about  myself,""  she  said, 
"  because  it  is  very  rarely  that  I  wish  to  be  under- 
stood." She  sank  on  the  settee  and  took  one  of 
Anna's  hands,  stroking  it  evenly  till  her  rings  made 
a  swerve  of  light.  Her  touch  as  well  as  her  voice 
possessed  a  magnetic  thrill. 

"  It  was  then  that  I  stood  up  straight  and  looked 
about.  I  had  to  make  my  one  thousand  into  four, 
so  I  had  to  know  myself." 

Anna  waited,  watching  the  strong,  supple  fingers 
caress  her  own. 

"  What  do  you  guess  that  i  discovered  ?  " 

Anna  shook  her  head. 

"  I  discovered  that  1  had  a  capacity  all  my  own." 


THE  CIRCLE  67 

She  rose  again.  Her  restlessness  was  indomitable, 
something  she  had  never  quite  subdued.  She 
crossed  to  a  table  and  picking  up  an  unread  book, 
began  to  cut  the  leaves.  "  It  was  a  capacity  — " 
She  used  the  paper-knife  with  little  jerks.  "  A 
capacity  for  exploiting  clever  people,  while  never 
claiming  cleverness  for  myself.  It  is  a  track  few 
people  have  followed,  because  few  people  are  really 
wise.  It  sounds  second  hand,  but  it  is  not.  It 
has  a  fund  of  excitement  that  one  can  never 
plumb.  It  is  almost  sport ! "  She  moved  back 
again  and  stood  with  her  back  to  the  fire.  Then 
she  laughed. 

"  I  flatter  myself  that  my  position  in  life  is 
quite  unique.  In  four  veal's  I  have  helped  quite 
thirty  people  to  tolerable  success,  and  without 
making  one  obligation  or  sapping  one  independ- 
ence. I  have  never  offended  a  woman,  because  I 
have  studied  how  to  take  a  second  place  with 
grace ;  and  I  have  kept  every  man  friend  I  ever 
made  by  the  simple  means  of  never  expecting 
—  and  never  allowing  him  to  make  love."  She 
paused  and  touched  her  dark  hair  with  a  peculiar 
gesture,  a  gesture  that  was  like  a  fine  comparison 
or  a  neatly  made  point.  Then  she  smiled  once 
more  and  pressed  the  bell.  "  How  I  have  talked," 
she  said  in  a  lowered  voice.  "  My  throat  feels  like 
dry  sand." 

Branks  had  brought  in  the  tea,  replenished  the 
fire,  and  disappeared  again  before  either  spoke. 


68  THE    CIRCLE 

Then  it  was  Anna  who  broke  the  pause  ;  her  eves 
were  filled  with  thoughtful  shadows,  her  moutii  was 
grave. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  exploit  ?  "  she  asked,  as 
she  crossed  the  room  to  fetch  her  cup.  "  No.  No 
cream,  please." 

"  I  know;  I  provided  a  lemon  on  purpose  to  seem 
Russian  ;  I  want  you  to  think  that  my  memory  is 
good.  To  exploit  a  person  is  to  do  for  them  what 
they  are  too  lazy  or  too  incapable  to  do  for  them- 
selves ;  to  run  them,  if  you  know  what  running 
means.  There  is  young  Anton  Golstock,  for  ex- 
ample. Hot  cakes  or  cold  ? " 

Anna's  cup  became  unsteady  for  a  moment.  She 
took  a  tiny  cake. 

"  There  is  Anton  Golstock,  a  clever  boy  —  nephew 
to  old  Golstock  of  Vienna,  who  adores  him.  Well, 
he  has  talent  as  certainly  as  his  uncle  had  money, 
but  neither  talent  nor  money  can  do  quite  every- 
thing —  though  foolish  people  think  they  can.  There 
were  some  particular  doors  that  Anton  was  keen  to 
open,  and  it  happened  that  I  possessed  the  keys.  It 
was  all  very  simple,  and  those  jewels  you  spoke  of  the 
other  day  were  the  logical  result.  If  one  were  bitter, 
one  might  call  them  the  oil  for  the  locks ;  but 
bitterness  is  such  an  unqualified  mistake."  She  ate 
a  biscuit  critically  and  sipped  her  tea  ;  then  she 
looked  at  Anna  with  a  swift,  satirical  smile.  "  Well,""1 
she  said,  "  what  have  you  deduced  ?  "  Her  tone 
was  light,  but  her  eyes  flashed  over  the  girl's  face. 


THE    CIRCLE  69 

Anna  stared  into  the  fire.     At  last  she  spoke, 
"  I  think  as  I  thought  at  first."1 
"  And  that  is  —  " 

The   girl   lifted   her   eyes.     "  That  you   are   the 
cleverest  person  I  know."" 


PART  ONE— CHAPTER  XI 

A"  TER  Anna's  pronouncement  there  was  a 
lengthy  pause.     To  the  girl  it  was  an 
immaterial  one,  for  the  atmosphere  that 
surrounded   her  —  the    warmth    of  the 
room,  the  sense  of  autumnal  flowers — was  sufficient  to 
fill  any  space ;  but  to  her  companion  it  held  a  mean- 
ing that  ran  below  the  surface  and  interwove  itself 
with  facts,  as  the  pattern  in  the  loom  weaves  through, 
imprinting  itself  upon  the  silk.     It  was  a  moment  of 
appreciation  so  spontaneous  and  sincere  that  she  ac- 
cepted it  instinctively,  forgetting  to  look  ironically 
for  the  hidden  motive  power. 

All  new  sensations  are  quieting  for  their  own 
duration.  Mrs.  Maxtead  sat  still  for  a  space  of 
time;  her  fingers  toyed  with  ier  teacup,  then  with 
her  spoon  ;  her  hazel  eyes  alternately  lightened  and 
deepened  with  the  procession  of  her  thoughts.  At 
la,st  the  silver  clock  by  her  hand  struck  five,  and  the 
necessity  for  action  came  leaping  hack.  With  a 
slight  movement  of  her  shoulders  she  became  her 
habitual  self — alert,  critical,  keen.  She  ceased  to 
move  her  fingers  ;  her  lips  parted  for  speech,  but 
closed  again.  Then  she  rose. 

She  rose  softly  ;  her  motions  slight,  as  the  rustle 
of  a  leaf.    For  an  instant  Anna  turned  and  looked  at 


THE    CIRCLE  71 

her,  then  returned  to  her  watching  of  the  fire.  She 
crossed  to  the  piano,  her  movements  so  gentle  as  to 
suggest  stealth  ;  then,  still  silently,  she  seated  her- 
self, and  her  fingers  passed  in  mute  thought  across 
the  keys.  Then  with  sudden  resolution  she  began  to 
play. 

Anna  stirred,  leant  forward  questioningly,  then 
dropped  back  again. 

The  piece  was  the  "  Storm  Prelude "  of  Chopin. 
Why  she  chose  the  theme  it  would  be  difficult  to  say, 
though  from  every  act  of  hers  ran  a  thread  of  reason, 
whose  shuttle  sometimes  floated  on  the  surface  of 
facts,  sometimes  hung  vaguely  in  their  midst,  and 
sometimes  lay  at  the  bottom,  inscrutable  and  unseen. 
The  first  faintly  repeated  note  fell  on  the  silence 
almost  casually,  as  the  first  action  in  a  great  series 
of  events  might  fall.  One  felt  that  there  was  mastery 
if  not  genius  in  the  player's  touch  —  in  the  strength 
of  her  fingers,  in  the  poise  of  the  sound. 

In  complete  silence,  with  one  motionless  listener, 
the  music  went  on  and  on.  The  soft  toning  of  the 
room  melted  into  firelight  —  the  fireglow  of  deep 
shadows  and  coloured  lights.  Beside  the  piano  the 
tall  chrysanthemum  plants  stood  boldly  up,  their 
soft  leaves  a  mere  suggestion,  their  massed  blooms  a 
blot  of  pink,  their  scent,  pungent  and  reminiscent, 
mingling  in  the  air.  The  player's  eyes  fell  separately 
and  critically  upon  every  detail ;  then,  with  a  perfect 
evenness  of  glance,  they  ran  the  polished  length  of 
the  piano  and  paused  on  the  listener's  face  —  show- 


72  THE   CIRCLE 

ing  clear  against  the  background  of  the  settee. 
They  rested  on  it  long  and  studiously,  passing  from 
the  curve  of  the  hair  and  the  sweep  of  the  thick 
eyelashes  to  the  generous,  impulsive  lips.  And  all 
the  \vhile  the  music  swelled  and  grew,  with  no  sug- 
irestion  lost,  no  point  missed,  the  chords  crashing 
and  merging,  the  compelling  motive  growing  domi- 
nant with  every  repeated  note. 

It  was  a  fine  moment.  The  player's  eyes  were 
cold,  questioning,  and  bright,  her  fingers  unerring. 
The  sounds  cut  the  silence  into  pain,  the  pathos 
and  loss  seemed  to  beat  together ;  then,  with  con- 
summate effect,  breaking  upon  the  repeated  note, 
came  silence  —  the  silence  that  only  such  a  pause  can 
be.  The  player's  hands  dropped  quietly  to  her  sides, 
but  her  eyes  did  not  swerve. 

Anna  caught  her  breath  uneasily  and  turned  round. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  she  said.     "  What 's  it  called  ?  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  leant  forward  ;  her  figure  was  ob- 
servant in  every  line. 

"  Come  here  !  "  she  said. 

Anna  rose  and  crossed  the  room. 

There  was  a  silver  match-box  on  the  piano.  Mrs. 
Maxtead  put  out  her  hand,  quietly  picked  it  up  and 
struck  a  match. 

The  momentary  light  shot  up  and  the  girl's  face 
was  illumined  —  the  whiteness  of  her  teeth  between 
the  parted  lips,  the  suddenly  narrowed  pupils  of  the 
eyes.  Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  swiftly  from  one  to  the 
other,  then  blew  on  the  flame  and  dropped  the  match. 


THE    CIRCLE  73 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  said ;  "  there  are  more  roads  to 
Rome  than  one." 

Anna  stared.     "  I  don't  understand." 

"  Did  I  expect  you  to  understand  ? "  She  ro.se 
and  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  arm.  "  Now  I  am 
going  to  ask  for  a  concession.  I  want  to  hear  your 
name."  She  pressed  the  arm  she  held.  "  I  must  call 
you  something,  or  —  how  can  we  be  friends  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Anna."     The  girl  raised  her  eyes. 

"  Anna  —  that  means  graciousness." 

Anna  was  silent. 

"  And  what  comes  afterwards  ?  You  can  surely 
trust  me  such  a  little  way  ?  " 

The  girl  counted  the  leaves  on  one  chrysanthemum 
plant  while  she  made  her  decision ;  then  for  the 
second  time  she  lifted  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  you  have  the  right  to  ask.  It  is  Anna 
Solny.  My  father  was  Nicholas  Solnikoff,  but  he 
dropped  the  ending  when  the  persecution  came.  He 
says  that  in  England  it  is  wiser  to  be  brief." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  smiled.  "  A  philosopher !  And  a 
Jew,  eh  ?  " 

Anna  nodded. 

"  A  Russian  Jew  ! "  She  ceased  to  smile  and 
once  more  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  fire.  "  A 
Russian  Jew  !  "  she  said  again.  "  There  has  n't  been 
an  inspired  Russian  Jew  since—  She  broke  off 
and  looked  up.  "  Do  you  know  the  history  of  your 
race?" 

Anna  took  a  step  back.     "  No.     My  father  never 


74  THE    CIRCLE 

speaks  of  his  religion  —  or  of  his  people  ;  he  says  that 
he  has  suffered  too  much  for  both.  He  says  that  God 
is  for  everyone  to  find  with  his  own  lamp.  He  is  a 
strange  man  —  my  father.11  She  stopped. 

There  was  an  interval.  Mrs.  Maxtead  continued 
to  look  towards  the  glowing  coals;  Anna  stood 
motionless.  At  last  the  former  broke  the  silence. 

"  A  Russian  Jew !  "  she  said  again.  Then  she 
turned,  her  manner  changed.  "  Do  you  know  that 
this  father  of  yours,  with  his  philosophies,  his 
theories,  his  strangeness,  may  have  gone  critically 
near  to  making  a  career  —  to  being  a  great  teacher  or 
a  great  leader  ?  Do  you  know  that  suppressed  races 
burst  out  at  intervals,  like  volcanoes,  in  a  flash  of 
flame  —  a  flash  of  genius  ?  You  must  study  your 
people  —  you  must  know  your  race.11 

For  a  moment  the  cold  voice  was  warmed.  To 
Anna  it  seemed  as  if  silver  had  suddenly  melted  into 
gold  ;  her  hesitancy  fell  from  her  ;  she  stepped  to  the 
other's  side. 

"  When  you  talk  like  that,"  she  said  simply,  "  you 
make  me  see  pictures  —  like  the  pictures  in  the  fire.11 
She  spoke  earnestly,  with  the  earnestness  of  a  child. 

When  Mrs.  Maxtead  responded,  her  tone,  her  very 
gestures,  were  carefully  ruled.  "  You  are  very  good 
to  my  voice,"  she  said.  "  Some  day  it  must  move 
you  to  greater  things  than  a  fire  could  do."  She 
laughed  gently  and  drew  the  girl  across  the  room ; 
by  the  manbelpiece  she  released  her  arm  and  sank  on 
to  the  settee.  "  As  for  those  pictures."  She  sat  up 


THE    CIRCLE  75 

and  touched  Anna's  waist.  "  Tell  me  what  they  look 
like.  Tell  me  what  you  do  with  them  when  they  are 
made.11  Insensibly  her  touch  tightened  ;  she  drew  the 
girl  lower  and  nearer  till  they  sat  side  by  side  ;  then 
once  more  she  took  the  hand  she  had  been  holding,  and 
stroked  it  • —  every  motion  accompanying  a  word. 

"Everyone  who  makes  a  dream,11  she  said,  "puts 
his  dream  into  an  act  —  or  wishes  to.  That  man 
with  the  curious  mouth  —  "  She  nodded  towards 
the  picture  on  the  mantel-shelf.  "  That  man  puts 
his  dreams  into  the  bow  of  his  violin  and  draws 
them  out  into  realities  for  thousands  and  thousands 
of  ears.  Others  —  "  She  spoke  slowly,  tentatively. 
"  Others  put  theirs  into  colours  and  mediums,  and 
make  big  spaces  of  canvas  into  living  things  — " 
She  paused  keenly,  and  glanced  for  the  twentieth 
time  at  the  girl's  face. 

Anna's  hand  tightened  on  hers,  but  the  glance 
that  responded  to  her  words  was  not  the  glance 
that  she  waited  for. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  cried  the  girl.  "John  Desinski 
made  his  dreams  like  that." 

"  John  Desinski ! "  Mrs.  Maxtead  quietly  dropped 
the  hand.  "  Who  was  John  Desinski  ?  " 

"  He  was  an  artist  —  a  Polish  artist."  Anna  spoke 
dreamily  with  a  ring  of  memory  in  her  voice.  "  Quite 
poor  —  but  with  so  much  hope.  He  was  an  exile, 
like  my  father ;  and  my  father  gave  him  shelter.  He 
had  nothing  but  his  canvases  and  tubes,  but  he  used 
to  sing  the  whole  day  long  as  he  worked  in  the  attic 


76  THE    CIRCLE 

room.  And  when  I  took  him  up  his  meals  —  for 
sometimes  he  'd  forget  to  eat  —  he  'd  put  down  his 
palette  and  cat  el  i  my  hands,  swinging  them  to  and 
fro ;  and  he  'd  speak  with  tears  and  laughter  mix- 
ing in  his  voice.  '  Ah,  little  Anna ! "  he  used  to  say. 
*  Little  Anna !  When  my  ships  come  home  ! '  But 
then  his  voice  would  break  off  short  and  he  'd 
cough,  while  the  colour  rushed  into  his  face.  'T  was 
always  the  same.  How  well  I  remember !  But  he 
died  five  years  ago/''  Her  tone  dropped.  "  He  died 
before  he  painted  the  great  picture  that  was  to 
bring  fortune  to  us  all.  It  was  very  sad." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  shivered.  "  Don't  talk  of  death," 
she  said ;  "  it  is  the  one  inevitable  that  I  refuse  to 
reckon  with."  She  took  the  girl's  hand  again.  "  So 
he  painted  pictures  ?  And  what  did  you  do  while 
the  pictures  were  being  made?" 

Anna  looked  up  with  an  involuntary  smile. 
"  Cleaned  the  palette,"  she  said,  "  and  sometimes 
the  palette  knife  !  " 

"  Never  got  to  brushes  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  pressed  the  hand  that  she  was 
holding. 

"  Then  your  dreams  do  not  materialise  through 
sticky  mediums  and  oily  tubes?"  Her  tone  was 
light,  but  the  half-intense,  half-ironic  question  that 
underran  it  was  like  a  metal  plating  beaten  very  fine. 

Anna  considered  for  a  moment,  then  looked 
quaintly  down.  '*  No,"  she  said,  "  I  hardlv  think 


THE    CIRCLE  77 

they  do.  I  once  drew  a  pig,  but  John  Desinski  said 
it  was  all  tail  and  no  tone.  So  I  never  tried  again 
after  that." 

They  both  laughed. 

Then  Mrs.  Maxtead  leant  forward  and  stirred  the 
fire.  "  Road  number  two,"  she  said  enigmatically. 
"  But  the  position  of  Rome  remains  unchanged." 


PART  ONE— CHAPTER  XII 

IF  the  curio  shop,  the  domain  of  old  Solny,  was 
silent  with  dust,  the  rest  of  the  house  —  the 
parlour,  the  scanty  bedrooms,  the  kitchen,  each 
nook  and  crevice  where  Anna's  brooms  and 
cloths  could  make   an   entry  —  reflected  cleanliness 
itself.     It  was  her  pride  to  be  thorough ;  and  much 
of  the  absorption  that  went  to  make  her  dreams, 
straightened  her  shoulders  and  bent  her  knees  to 
unpleasant  tasks. 

Many  a  morning  when  the  snow  lay  on  the  ground 
and  the  dawn  had  scarcely  broken  over  Felt  Street, 
the  rattle  of  pails  and  pans  might  be  heard  in  the  tiny 
yard,  the  curl  of  smoke  be  seen  rising  from  the  chim- 
ney, as  Anna,  capable,  self-reliant,  and  cheerful,  went 
about  the  making  of  her  father's  early  cup  of  tea  ; 
a  task  that,  as  a  child  of  seven  with  sleepy  eyes  and 
numbed  hands,  she  had  first  set  herself  to  perform. 

But  whatever  of  her  care,  of  her  individuality,  was 
to  be  seen  throughout  the  house,  it  was  in  her  own 
bedroom  that  she  most  markedly  showed  herself.  A 
narrow  room  with  whitewashed  walls,  slanting  ceiling, 
and  uneven  floor,  it  was  yet  big  enough  to  hold  a 
key  to  her  inner  mind  —  a  key  that  did  not  hang, 
as  one  might  have  expected,  on  the  space  of  wall 


THE    CIRCLE  79 

between  the  little  ivory  water-font  and  John  Desin- 
ski's  study  of  a  child's  head ;  but  a  key  that  lay  upon 
the  bare  boards  in  the  form  of  an  Eastern  carpet 
strip  so  rich  of  texture,  so  gorgeous  of  colouring,  that 
it  defied  time,  and  lay  there  in  its  scanty  setting  as 
much  a  flower  in  the  desert  of  poverty  as  on  the  day 
when  Anna,  struggling  under  its  weight,  had  proudly 
carried  it  from  the  shop  up  the  crooked  stairs  — 
breathing  and  pausing  on  every  step. 

What  circumstance  had  made  it  hers,  what  deed 
of  virtue  it  had  rewarded,  what  impulse  on  old 
Solny's  part  it  had  shown  forth,  she  had  long  ago 
forgotten,  but  the  thing  remained  —  eternal,  un- 
changing ;  her  prayer  rug,  her  magician's  carpet, 
from  whose  arabesque  she  drew  many  a  picture,  in 
whose  glowing  tones  she  had  many  times  mirrored 
the  world  from  her  narrow  bed.  It  was  part  of  Jier- 
self;  so  woven  to  mystery  in  her  imagination  as 
almost  to  take  on  human  form.  Each  twist  of  the 
design  was  the  memento  of  some  incident,  the  record 
of  some  hour.  Across  the  wide  stripe  of  blue  were 
the  two  round  marks  where  for  years  she  had  knelt 
morning  and  night  to  whisper  —  sometimes  mechani- 
cally, sometimes  with  an  excess  of  ardour  —  the  aspi- 
rations of  the  Greek  church  that  John  Desinski  had 
taught  her  to  repeat.  Then  further  down,  where 
the  orange  crossed  the  blue,  was  the  great  stain  that 
the  broom  had  never  quite  removed — the  stain  that 
her  tears  had  made  when  the  same  John  Desinski,  no 
longer  able  to  sing  or  work,  a  cold,  still  shadow  of 


80  THE    CIRCLE 

himself,  was  nailed  into  the  deal  coffin  and  carried 
with  many  horrible  jerks  and  knocks  down  the  nar- 
row stairs.  Then,  last  of  all  —  the  newest,  keenest 
record  of  all  —  came  the  mark  of  candle  grease  on  the 
triangle  of  black ;  the  open,  palpable  proof  of  a 
heart  that  had  throbbed  and  a  hand  that  had 
trembled  with  excitement  as  she  carried  her  candle 
upstairs  on  the  first  night  that  the  enchanted  wand 
had  touched  her  eyelids  —  and  she  had  seen  life. 

She  gazed  at  it  now  as  she  stood  leaning  on  the 
handle  of  her  sweeping-brush,  the  pan  of  newly- 
gathered  dust  at  her  feet;  gazed  at  it  as  she  had 
gazed  a  hundred  times  in  the  past  weeks,  with  eyes 
that  saw  in  it  an  omen  of  unfathomable  things.  To 
her  it  was  partly  sacred,  the  one  blot  upon  her 
treasure  that  she  made  no  effort  to  wipe  out.  She 
looked  long  and  questioningly ;  then  she  suddenly 
straightened  herself,  tossed  back  her  plait,  and  picked 
up  the  dustpan  with  a  jerk.  Holding  it  carefully, 
she  crossed  to  the  open  window  and  overturned  it  on 
the  sill.  Attentively  she  watched  the  specks,  the 
threads,  the  tiny  scraps  of  dust  eddy  out  upon  the 
air;  then  she  dropped  to  her  knees,  taking  her  face 
between  her  hands. 

From  the  Passage  below  rose  the  occasional  sound 
of  strife.  It  was  the  living  hour  of  the  day.  Poles 
with  drying  clothes  hung  from  the  opposite  windows, 
an  odour  of  decaying  vegetables  hung  on  the  air; 
but  above,  where  the  slanting  roofs  cut  the  sky, 
shone  a  space  of  frosty  blue,  and  upon  this  she  fixed 


THE    CIRCLE  81 

her  gaze.  She  owned  the  inestimable  quality  of 
seeing  nothing  below  her  wants. 

Her  eyes  rested  on  the  strip  of  blue,  and  away, 
like  zigzag  lines,  wandered  the  pictures  of  her  mind. 
Granite  castles,  towered  and  battlemented,  rose  out 
of  a  shimmering  cloud ;  belts  of  fir-trees  shot  into 
the  air,  frost-tipped  and  glistening  as  the  sun  ;  white 
avenues,  stiff  with  ice,  twisted  to  illimitable  length. 
She  looked  till  her  eyes  ached,  then  she  rose  and 
crossed  the  room.  Her  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes 
dark  ;  she  turned  back  the  patched  coverlet  of  the 
bed  and  drew  out  a  book.  It  was  a  small  book 
bound  in  calf ;  the  leaves,  thin  and  yellow,  were  torn 
in  parts ;  across  the  fly-leaf  ran  the  title  "  Abra- 
Mule ;  or,  Love  and  Empire.  A  Tragedy."  Passing 
this  with  small  consideration,  she  opened  the  book 
at  "The  Plain  Dealer,  a  Comedy,"  and  began  to 
read.  The  words  from  frequent  perusal  were  known 
to  her,  but  through  habit  her  eyes  skimmed  the 
lines. 

Five  minutes  passed  — ten  minutes  —  she  still  read 
on.  Then  a  knock  fell  upon  the  door. 

She  forgot  to  raise  her  head  and  the  knock  was 
repeated.  At  last  she  lifted  her  chin. 

"  Come  in  ! ""  she  called,  and  at  the  same  moment 
she  thrust  the  book  into  its  hiding-place. 

The  handle  turned,  and  Johann's  face  showed 
round  the  corner  of  the  door. 

"  You  told  me  to  tell  you  when  it  was  twelve.     It 

is  twelve  now.1"    He  looked  harassed  and  ill  at  ease. 

I 


82  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Twelve  already  !  Come  in,  Johann,  my  work  's 
all  done.  Come  in  while  I  put  on  my  hat." 

He  obeyed  slowly,  and  she  wheeled  towards  him. 

"  Would  you  be  nervous,  to-day  —  if  you  were 
me  ?  "  She  pushed  a  chair  in  his  direction.  "  I  was 
awake  at  five  and  I  hardly  ate  any  breakfast." 

"  I  noticed,"  he  said  in  a  strained  voice. 

"  After  all,  it  is  but  natural,  because  it  is  the  most 
splendid  day  of  all  my  life.  When  I  return  to-night 
1 11  have  seen  a  real  play  —  not  a  play  in  a  booth 
—  or  a  play  in  a  book,"  she  glanced  involuntarily 
towards  the  bed,  "  but  a  play  in  a  theatre  with 
a  real  stage."  She  broke  off  abruptly  and  looked 
across  the  room  at  the  wistful  face  and  the  twisted 
body,  so  painfully  conscious  of  itself.  "  Johann, 
isn't  she  too  good  to  me?"" 

Johann  turned  his  face  from  the  light. 

"  Whatever  seems  good  to  you,  Anna  —  is  good 
to  me.  It  is  but  natural  that  she  should  love  you. 
It  is  but  what  I  understand." 

Anna  ran  to  him  and  squeezed  his  fingers. 
"  Johann !  dear  Johann  !  How  kind  you  are !  I 
feared  that  you  might  be  cross  to-day,  and  now 
you  're  not.  It  seems  good !  Look,  even  the  sun 
shines ! "  She  nodded  towards  the  window,  then 
passed  to  the  door  and  lifted  her  hat  from  the  hook. 
She  looked  at  it  with  a  momentary  sigh. 

"  Oh,  Johann,  she  has  such  lovely  clothes  !  Will 
she  be  ashamed,  d'you  think,  to  be  seen  with 
me?" 


THE    CIRCLE  83 

Johann  gave  one  of  his  rare,  harsh  laughs.  "  Look 
in  the  glass,"  he  said. 

She  turned,  hurt  and  puzzled. 

"  Forgive !  The  frost  makes  my  head  ache.  I  am 
bitter  —  not  worth  one  of  your  bright  thoughts. 
But  can  you  understand  ?  "  He  half  thrust  out  his 
hand,  then  drew  it  back.  "  Can  you  understand  ? 
This  woman  who  claims  you  —  who  takes  you  away 
day  after  day  —  "  He  devoured  her  with  his  eyes. 
"  This  woman,  Anna,  has  all  —  all ;  and  we  —  your 
father  and  I  —  and  the  shop,  we  have  nothing 
—  nothing !  Ah,  I  grow  stupid  with  jealous 
thoughts  —  "  His  words  broke  ;  he  rose  and  turned 
towards  the  door. 

Anna  thrust  on  her  hat  and  picked  up  her 
coat. 

"  Johann  ! "  She  caught  his  arm.  "  You  grudge, 
Johann?" 

"  Grudge !  Ah,  no  —  no."  He  turned  vehe- 
mently. "  Grudge  !  You  know  I  would  lie  down 
under  your  feet  to  bring  you  one  little  wish." 

In  some  points  a  woman,  in  others  still  strangely 
a  child,  Anna's  eyes  grew  misty  in  quick  response. 
She  was  touched  without  comprehending ;  without 
realising,  she  saw. 

"  Have  I  been  unkind,  Johann,  these  two  months 
—  since  you  came  ?  " 

"  Unkind  ! "     He  tried  to  smile. 

"Then  what?" 

He  shook  his  head. 


84  THE   CIRCLE 

"  You  won't  tell  ?  " 
*  There  is  nothing  to  tell. 

"  Then  you  '11  come  with  me  to  the  door  ?  You  11 
say  good-bye  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  will  come  with  you  to  the  door." 

They  descended  the  stairs  in  silence,  and  in  silence 
passed  through  the  low-ceiled  shop.  Anna  paused 
by  her  father's  partitioned  desk  and  tapped  \fn  the 
glass. 

"  I  am  going  out,  father,"  she  called. 

Solny  looked  up  with  abstracted  eyes. 

"  Ah,  so  !  Enjoy  yourself,  my  child."  He  bent 
his  head  again. 

Anna  turned  to  Johann.  "  Do  fathers  ever  ask 
where  people  go  —  or  seem  to  care  ?  Did  your 
father  care  ?  "  Her  mind  was  strung  by  anticipation, 
but  she  was  aware  suddenly  of  a  dropped  link  some- 
where in  her  own  life. 

Looking  at  her  puzzled  face,  a  great  impatience  of 
old  Solny  rose  in  Johannes  heart.  "  Perhaps  some 
day,"  he  said  involuntarily,  "  he  will  learn  to  care 
too  much." 

Anna  gazed  at  him  in  question. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  told  you  I  was 
bitter  to-day."  He  walked  across  the  shop. 

Her  face  was  grave  as  she  followed  him  to  the 
door  ;  but  at  the  door  the  frost  in  the  air  was  keen. 
It  swept  doubt  and  disappointment  before  it,  as 
cobwebs  are  brushed  aside.  She  turned  —  her  hand 
held  out. 


THE    CIRCLE  85 

"  It  "s  my  great  day,  Johann.  Won't  you  say 
1  Good  luck'?" 

Li  contrast  to  the  white  world,  Johann's  face 
looked  grey.  "Good  luck.  And  —  and  God  take 
care  of  you,  Anna/1 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  but  her  eyes  were  seeing 
ahead.  The  youth  in  the  wintry  air  was  calling  in 
kinship  to  her.  She  drew  away  her  hand  and  ran 
down  the  street. 

He  leant  back  against  the  door-post,  hardly  realis- 
ing that  she  was  gone ;  then  his  mind  quickened 
with  hope.  She  had  forgotten  him  as  she  sped 
away,  but  she  would  remember.  At  the  corner  of 
the  street  she  would  remember  and  turn  back.  It 
was  a  trivial  hope ;  the  point  of  triviality  is  some- 
times sharp  and  probes  deep.  In  a  flash  the  idea 
conquered  him.  He  leant  out,  peering  down  the 
street. 

He  watched  her  eager  step,  the  poise  of  her  head  — 
the  everything  and  the  nothing  that  in  two  months 
had  become  the  aureole  about  his  being.  On  and  on ; 
farther  and  farther.  He  could  see  the  lithe  shoul- 
ders straighten,  he  could  feel  her  lips  part  as  she 
drank  in  the  air. 

"  Ah,  surely,  surely  —  The  words  broke  from 
him,  then  cracked  on  his  lips.  He  moved  back  heart- 
sick and  dizzy.  \  She  had  passed  out  of  sight. 

For  a  moment  his  eyes  dropped,  unable  to  rise 
above  the  ground.  Then  imperceptibly,  something 
in  the  dazzling  sky  above  his  head  attracted  him  — 


86  THE   CIRCLE 

reminded  him  of  her.      He  looked  up  laboriously ; 
after  a  minute  his  lips  moved. 

"  God  take  care  of  her ! "  he  said ;  and  turning,  he 
walked  into  the  shop. 


PART    ONE— CHAPTER    XII I 

A~  ~D  the  play,  Anna  ?     The  play  ?  " 
Anna  was  silent.     It  was  the  third  time 
she  had  been  silent  to  the  same  ques- 
tion, put   on   each  occasion  in  a   fresh 
form.     Without  raising  her  eyes  she  stirred  in  the 
deep  chair  and  stretched  her  feet  to  the  fire. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  pulled  back  the  white  silk  curtains 
of  her  bedroom  windows  and  let  the  last  of  the  grey 
daylight  fall  into  the  room ;  then  she  moved  to  the 
dressing-table  and  shifted  the  silver  scent-bottles  from 
place  to  place.  She  was  on  the  eve  of  testing  chance, 
and  through  all  her  blood  she  felt  the  nearness  of 
events. 

It  had  been  decisive  from  the  first.  From  the 
moment  that  the  footlights  had  been  raised,  and  she 
had  caught  sight  of  Anna's  eyes  in  the  dimness  of  the 
box,  she  had  felt  the  crisis  in  the  air. 

Her  moment  had  come  and  she  gripped  it,  meta- 
phorically, between  her  fingers.  Then,  as  a  cat  with 
a  mouee,  she  experienced  the  longing  to  let  it  slip  a 
little  way  for  the  keen  delight  of  drawing  it  back 
again.  She  would  make  certainty  trebly  certain  be- 
fore she  burnt  her  boats.  With  a  sense  of  exaltation 
she  loosened  her  fur  wrap  and  laid  it  on  the  bed ; 
then  she  crossed  deliberately  to  the  fire  and  stood 


88 

behind  Anna  —  her  elbows  resting  on  the  back  of  the 
girl's  chair,  her  face  held  between  her  hands.  A  com- 
pelling vitality  pervaded  her ;  there  was  a  peculiar, 
half-humorous  expectation  in  her  very  attitude  as 
her  glance  fell  on  the  girl's  hair. 

She  chose  her  opening  sentence  with  excessive  care. 

"  My  dear  Anna,"  she  said  with  cutting  clearness, 
"you  are  absolutely  wrong.  The  woman  was  absurd 
in  the,. part.  Absurd!"  She  smiled  her  keen  smile 
as  she  saw  the  impassive  shoulders  stiffen,  but  her 
face  was  blank  as  Anna  turned  round. 

"  Absurd  ? "  The  girl  spoke  questionmgly,  a 
vague  reproach  overshadowing  her  eyes ;  then  her 
face  flushed,  becoming  suddenly  and  sensitively 
alive.  "  How  can  you  be  so  — so  unjust !  "  There 
was  a  thrill  in  her  voice. 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  lids  were  lowered ;  she  looked 
carefully  at  her  polished  nails.  The  trap  had  been 
almost  too  well  baited.  With  extreme  consistency 
she  controlled  her  voice. 

"  My  dear  little  Anna,  you  are  so  very  young ! 
There  are  such  essential  grades  in  an  actress  —  such 
degrees.  You,  who  have  never  before  seen  a  play  —  ** 
She  made  a  delicate  movement  with  her  shoulders. 
"  I,  who  have  seen  them  by  the  score  —  "  She  broke 
her  sentences  with  good  effect. 

Anna's  bewildered  eyes  sought  hers. 

"  But  people  cheered  and  stamped  and  clapped."" 

"  In  the  gallery  people  are  forced  to  stamp  —  to 
rest  their  feet" 


THE    CIRCLE  89 

The  bewildered  look  deepened  in  Anna's  eyes. 

"  But  she  was  real,""  she  persisted ;  "  she  was  real. 
Think  of  her  when  she  stood  up  in  the  second  act 
with  her  hands  stiff  and  her  eyes  cold.  Oh,  I  think 
you  are  unjust ! " 

The  other's  eyelids  drooped  again.  "  But,  my  dear 
child,  how  she  tortured  her  words  !  She  gave  the 
lines  like  this  — 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  never  so  sweetly  natural  as  in  a 
studied  scene.  She  dropped  her  arms  from  the  chair 
with  a  perfectly  impulsive  jerk,  and  the  droop  of  her 
head,  as  she  seemed  to  pause  on  her  resolve,  was 
without  a  flaw ;  later,  when  she  moved  across  the 
room,  the  swish  of  her  skirts  against  the  carpet 
wajs  the  essence  of  spontaneous  haste.  By  the  nar- 
row bookcase  she  paused  with  a  touch  of  question. 
Each  of  the  tightly-packed  books  was  bound  in 
white  ;  her  fingers  moved  hesitatingly,  consideringly, 
over  the  upper  tier;  hovered  above  a  volume  that 
stood  slightly  forward  from  the  rest ;  then,  with 
a  delightful  air  of  decision,  fell  on  it  and  drew 
it  out. 

Her  head  was  bent,  her  fingers  busy  with  the  pages 
as  she  recrossed  the  room.  "  Her  reading  of  the 
passage  was  something  like  this,  Anna  —  If  I 
am  wrong,  you  will  correct  me  ? "  She  looked  up 
with  a  brilliant  smile. 

Anna  turned  questioningly,  but  her  companion's 
gaze  had  returned  to  the  book. 

She  took  up  her  old  position,  but  her  attitude  wa* 


90  THE    CIRCLE 

slightly  changed  ;  she  could  now  watch  Anna's  pro 
file,  clear  cut  against  the  glowing  fire.     She  arranged 
the  book ;  then  very  deliberately  set  herself  to  read 
from  the  play. 

She  had  a  flexible  voice,  and  she  dropped  it 
to  a  dull  monotone  that  touched  and  frayed  the 
nerves.  At  the  fifth  line  she  saw  the  girl's  lips 
twitch  and  her  nostrils  distend.  She  bent  her  head 
with  a  little  nod  —  a  just  perceptible  movement  of 
satisfaction  —  and  went  steadily  on. 

For  several  seconds  Anna  sat  rigid ;  then  she 
moved  uneasily  in  her  chair,  leant  back,  bent  for- 
ward, her  susceptibilities  throbbing  like  the  pendu- 
lum of  a  clock. 

The  monotonous  voice  went  on  —  on  —  irritating, 
persistent,  seemingly  endless.  Anna  felt  a  dampness 
on  her  forehead.  She  lifted  her  hand  and  pushed 
back  her  hair.  Something  within  her  was  being 
slowly  wound  up  and  up.  The  inner  self — the 
self  that  had  risen  as  from  long  darkness  on  the 
night  of  Johann's  rescue ;  the  unnamed  power  that 
had  ridden  above  her,  giving  her  heart,  giving  her 
capacity,  giving  her  wings  to  soar. 

She  rose  unevenly  —  a  great  light  on  her  face ; 
and  without  a  gesture  of  preparation  swept  the  book 
from  the  other's  hand. 

"  You  are  cruel.  Unjust  and  cruel !  What  you 
read  is  a  lie.  She  spoke  it  this  way  —  "  She  threw 
back  her  head  with  sure  decision,  and  began  slowly, 
line  by  line. 


THE    CIRCLE  91 

For  ten  minutes  the  room  seemed  to  hold  its 
breath.  The  words  were  the  words  of  a  fine  play ; 
at  the  matinee  they  had  been  spoken  by  a  fine 
actress  ;  but  now,  in  the  quiet  of  the  firelight,  from 
the  lips  of  a  young,  untaught  girl,  with  an  audience 
of  one,  they  had  a  meaning  unpossessed  before.  The 
spark  that  God  sets  in  the  few  glowed  in  her  voice 
and  shone  in  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  glance  was  over-bright,  her  face  a 
little  pale,  when  Anna  laid  down  the  book  ;  her  sure- 
ness,  her  spontaneity  seemed  to  have  forsaken  her, 
as  she  crossed  the  room. 

"You  will  be  the  greatest  actress  I  have  ever 
known,""  she  said  ;  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  own 
knowledge  there  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice. 


PART    ONE— CHAPTER  XIV 


1 


^HROUGH  the  window  of  the  little  room 
above  the  curio  shop  the  sun  no  longer 
shone ;  the  curtain  was  closely  drawn,  a 
candle  flickered  in  the  coldness  of  the  air 
and  cast  shadows  on  the  bare,  washed  walls.  By 
the  old-fashioned  chest  of  drawers  stood  Anna ; 
her  hat  was  on,  one  arm  was  still  through  the  sleeve 
of  her  coat,  the  other  had  been  hastily  drawn  out ; 
between  her  fingers  she  held  an  envelope,  thick  and 
square  in  shape.  She  held  it  closely,  and  as  she 
moved  nearer  to  the  candle  flame  she  twisted  it 
between  her  hands.  On  her  face  were  mingled  ex- 
pressions —  excitement,  hesitancy,  speculation. 

She  twisted  the  envelope  again ;  and  her  mind, 
with  swift  precision,  reviewed  the  events  that  had 
made  it  hers. 

As  in  a  shifting  picture  she  saw  herself  once  more 
in  the  luxurious  bedroom  ;  saw  the  white  curtains, 
through  which  the  daylight  filtered  as  through  mist , 
saw  the  long  glasses  that  reflected  her  in  every  atti- 
tude upon  every  hand  ;  the  bed  with  its  embroidered 
sheets  and  silk  coverlet ;  then  the  picture  stirred, 
growing  clearer  and  closer  to  her  mental  sight.  A 
fresh  moment  became  discernible  —  the  moment 


THE    CIRCLE  3S 

when  the  great  impulse  had  swept;  her,  dominating 
her.  making  her  its  instrument,  and  she  hod  read 
aloud  unconscious  of  everything  but  the  stirring 
words. 

As  out  of  a  long  dream  she  heard  again  Mr*. 
Maxtead's  voice,  short,  convinced,  unlike  itaelf ;  and 
again  in  remembrance  she  felt  her  heart  bound  and 
then  stand  still.  She  leant  nearer  to  the  light  and 
moved  the  envelope  afresh.  Her  memories  disin- 
tegrated like  portions  of  a  film,  then  merged 
together  again.  She  saw  Mrs.  Maxtead  pass  over 
the  carpet  and  disappear  into  her  dressing-room  ; 
she  saw  herself  motionless,  imheedful  of  the  momenta,, 
gazing  into  the  fire.  Then  came  her  hostess'*  return 
after  an  indefinite  lapse  of  time  ;  her  very  movement 
and  its  sound  came  back  to  the  girl ;  she  even  lifted 
her  head  as  she  had  lifted  it  then  and  saw  in  imagi- 
nation the  curve  of  the  trailing  dress,  the  envelope  in 
the  outstretched  hand.  This  same  envelope !  She 
passed  her  finger-tips  slowly  over  its  smooth  surface. 

"  My  dear  little  Anna  — "  Hie  cold,  clear  words 
seemed  to  cut  the  air  again ;  she  saw  herself  turn  in 
response.  "  My  dear  little  Anna,  there  are  moments 
in  life  when  one  is  forced  to  hold  up  one's  hands  and 
say —  Enough!  We  could  talk  till  midnight,  but 
we  would  mar  an  effect  that  we  could  never  repro- 
duce. Now  our  effect  shall  not  be  marred.  I  am 
going  to  be  wise  ;  I  am  going  to  send  you  away  m 
time,1*  Again  Anna  heard  the  low,  peculiar  laugh. 
u  But  I  am  not  sending  you  alone.  Take  this  letter 


94  THE    CIRCLE 

and  read  it  in  your  own  room,  with  your  door  locked. 
Then  to-morrow  come  to  me  again.  I  shall  wait  in 
all  day."  Anna  looked  down  and  smoothed  the 
envelope  afresh. 

On  the  roof  opposite  a  cat  wailed.  The  sound 
roused  her.  She  crossed  to  the  window  and  drew 
the  curtain  back.  Then  with  a  sudden  impulse  she 
turned  into  the  room  and  tore  the  envelope  apart. 
The  first  three  lines  she  deciphered  in  semi-darkness ; 
then  she  stepped  to  the  candle  and  held  the  pages  to 
the  light.  Her  fingers  shook  a  little,  and  her  throat 
seemed  tied  with  cords. 

**  MY  DEAU  ANNA, — This  is  not  an  essay,  it  is  not  a 
letter;  it  is  a  question — and  the  answer  lies  with  you.1' 

Anna  laid  down  the  sheets  and  pushed  back  her 
hair ;  then  she  took  a  deep,  agitated  breath. 

"To  be  candid  is  the  privilege  of  the  strong," 
she  read  carefully.  "It  is  only  weakness  that  hangs 
on  the  outskirts  of  a  point.  I  will  rob  the  point 
even  of  its  frills  ;  I  will  be  blunt. 

"  On  the  first  day  that  I  saw  you  I  felt  that  some- 
where, on  some  plane  of  life,  you  were  meant  to 
stand  quite  alone.  In  the  mint  of  existence  we 
are  all  stamped;  and  your  stamp  is  in  your  eyes, 
in  your  voice,  in  the  exasperatingly  inimitable 
something  that  marks  you  all  over. 

"  That  was  a  month  ago,  and  I  was  prophetic ; 
this  is  to-day,  and  I  am  justified.  When  I  told 
myaelf  then  that  you  had  genius,  I  was  original ; 


THE    CIRCLE  95 

when  I  repeat  it  now,  I  but  anticipate  the  whole 
world  by  a  year  or  two. 

"  This  may  seem  too  big  a  sentence,  too  strong  a 
sentiment ;  if  it  does,  just  pause.  Lay  dowm  the 
paper  before  you  read  another  line  and  think  —  think 
hard.  Shut  your  eyes  and  repeat  slowly  to  your- 
self, <rThis  is  written  by  a  woman  —  of  a  woman.' 
If  that  fails  to  convince  you,  I  have  no  more  to  say."" 

Anna  paused  and  unconsciously  obeyed.  The  can- 
dle flame  seemed  to  lengthen,  then  to  shorten ;  the 
walls  to  contract,  then  to  expand.  She  put  up  her 
hand  and  tentatively  touched  her  face;  she  was 
doubtful  even  of  herself.  It  was  as  if  a  great 
clamour  of  music  had  beaten  on  her  ears  and  then 
passed  by,  leaving  her  deafened.  Automatically  she 
lifted  the  letter  to  the  light  again. 

u  And  now,"  it  ran  on,  "  as  I  have  mauj  my  pro- 
logue, let  me  come  to  facts ;  let  me  range  your 
equipments  and  your  drawbacks  side  by  side.  On 
the  one  hand  you  have  brain,  you  have  good  looks, 
you  have  ambition  —  though  you  haven^t  discovered 
it  as  yet ;  on  the  other  hand  —  remember  I  am  being 
blunt  —  on  the  other  hand  you  have  no  education  to 
speak  of,  you  have  no  position  worth  the  name,  you 
possess  not  one  influential  friend.  Left  to  yourself, 
what  future  do  you  see  ?  Let  me  answer  for  you. 
The  saddest  future  on  this  profitable  earth  —  the 
future  of  a  thwarted  career,  of  a  discontented,  wasted 
life.  Now  where  is  the  remedy,  where  is  the  loop- 
hole? For  even  the  pessimists  sometimes  admit  that 


96  THE   CIRCLE 

we  are  each  given  one  chance  at  least.  My  child,  the 
remedy  lies  with  me!11 

For  a  second  the  pages  fluttered  in  Anna's  hand 
and  her  eyes  darkened ;  then  she  recovered  herself 
and  went  steadily  on. 

"  The  remedy  lies  with  me.  I  am  your  chance ! 
To  he  poetic,  there  is  a  golden  ladder  waiting  for 
you,  but  you  will  need  it  to  be  steadied  while  you 
climb.  Well,  you  have  seen  my  hands  —  they  are 
unusually  strong. 

"Give  yourself  to  me  and  there  is  nothing  to 
which  you  may  not  attain.  Thanks  to  your  nation- 
ality, you  already  speak  in  French.  You  shall  go  to 
France  —  to  Paris,  from  where  so  many  stars  have 
shone.  For  five  years  you  will  work  —  work  —  work  ; 
for  five  years  no  one  will  see  you,  though  it  will  be 
my  duty,  when  the  time  comes,  to  arrange  that  you?* 
name  is  not  unknown.  When  the  five  years  are 
passed,  you  will  come  into  a  world  that  is  waiting 
for  you.  Some  day  you  will  understand  what  that 
means. 

"  You  admire  my  house ;  I  have  seen  your  admi- 
ration in  your  eyes.  My  child,  this  house  is  a  hovel 
compared  to  what  you  can  have  by  the  lifting  of 
your  hand.  You  can  have  jewels,  you  can  have 
dresses,  you  can  have  admiration  without  end  — 
should  admiration  please  you  ;  but  through  it  all, 
above  it  all,  you  will  have  your  ambition  to  keep 
you  straight  I  feel  my  fro/en  enthusiasm  thaw 
•for  "on.  Long  ago,  when  the  world,  and  the 


THE  CIRCLE  97 

minds  in  the  world,  were  very  young,  there  were 
fairies  and  magic  wands.  Nowadays  the  world 
is  old  and  there  are  no  more  fairies ;  but  the 
magic  wand  still  remains.  It  is  no  longer  tan- 
gible ;  we  call  it  by  a  different  name ;  but  it 
can  still  conjure.  It  can  still  turn  enemies  to 
friends,  corn  to  gold,  pumpkins  to  carriages.  It 
is  the  little  spark  we  term  genius,  the  little  spark 
which  we  worship  and  envy  and  cringe  to  —  and 
with  which  we  light  our  own  dull  lives." 

About  Anna's  throat  the  cords  seemed  to  tighten, 
to  straim,  then  to  snap.  With  a  sob  she  dropped 
the  letter  and  covered  her  face.  In  tliat  moment 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  very  near  to  God. 

It  was  the  numbness  of  her  fingers  at  last  that 
brought  her  back  to  thought.  With  a  start  she 
remembered  that  the  letter  was  still  to  finish  — 
that  every  dream,  no  matter  how  golden,  has  its 
waking.  Stiffly,  almost  reluctantly,  she  stretched 
out  her  arm,  collected  the  scattered  sheets,  smoothed 
them  and  found  her  place.  There  was  a  space  in 
the  letter  where  she  herself  had  broken  off — a 
space  of  blank  paper;  and  with  a  touch  of  intui- 
tion it  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  see  the  writer 
pause,  laugh,  move  her  fingers  restlessly,  then  dip 
her  pen  newly  into  the  ink. 

"  How  I  have  rhapsodised  ! "  The  writing  was 
neater  and  more  studied  in  this  second  beginning. 
"  It  would  seem,  Anna,  that  you  have  imbued  me 
with  some  of  your  youth  —  that  never  appreciated 


98  THE  CIRCLE 

gift  that  tarnishes  so  very  soon.  But  I  drift  again ! 
My  child,  you  must  pull  me  up.  A  woman  of 
thirty  with  sentiments !  How  futile  —  Let  me 
start  afresh. 

"  All  that  I  have  offered  you  I  can  give  —  and 
more.  Mentally  I  see  your  generosity  leap  up 
as  you  read  this;  but  that  must  not  be.  As  I 
have  often  told  you,  for  everything  I  give  it  is 
my  policy  to  receive.  I  have  my  interest,  like 
the  money-lender  —  the  pursuer  of  any  trade.  In 
this  case,  believe  me,  I  am  all  self.  Heretofore  I 
have  steered  my  little  boat  evenly  through  troubled 
seas  ;  in  the  future  I  mean  to  rise  on  the  very  crest 
of  the  wave  with  you.  As  for  my  conditions,  they 
are  these : 

"  First,  we  enter  into  a  ten  years1  bargain  —  not  a 
legal  bargain  as  yet,  for  you  are  not  legally  of  age  ; 
but  a  bargain  of  honour.  I  see  just  how  high 
honour  stands  with  you  and  —  I  take  the  risk.  For 
the  first  five  years  I  meet  every  expense ;  for  the 
second  five  I  take  a  percentage  —  a  large  one,  re- 
member, upon  all  money  that  you  make.  If  you 
succeed,  well  —  there  is  the  crest  of  the  wave  for  us 
both  ;  if  you  fail  —  But  there  is  no  such  word  ! 

"That  is  my  first  condition,  my  second  is  more 
personal  —  womanlike,  I  put  it  to  the  last.  So 
make  a  clear  head  and  take  your  courage  in  both 
hands,  for  you  are  facing  your  first  problem." 

Anna  felt  her  fingers  turn  a  little  colder :  other- 
wise she  remained  unmoved. 


THE    CIRCLE  99 

"  My  child,  when  I  say  that  I  can  claim  experience 
I  scarcely  think  you  will  dispute  the  point.  I  do 
claim  experience.  I  have  seen  mistakes  made ;  I 
have  made  my  own  mistakes  ;  and  in  your  regard  I 
am  determined  — I  say  it  with  all  force  —  I  am  deter- 
mined that  there  shall  be  no  false  step.  Now  the 
great  artist,  like  the  great  ruler,  must  have  no  past. 
It  is  essential.  I  have  known  it  —  I  have  proved  if 
to  be  true.  A  future  is  one^s  own ;  a  past  is  the 
property  of  imbeciles  and  knaves. 

"  AVere  I  to  speak  to  you  face  to  face,  to  give  you 
my  reasons,  to  raise  you  my  arguments,  I  know  that 
by  their  very  truth  I  must  win  you  to  my  side ;  but 
this  is  a  fight  that,  if  possible  —  if  at  all  possible  — 
I  want  you  to  wage  for  yourself.  I  make  the  propo- 
sition ;  it  is  for  you  —  I  hope  without  prejudice  or 
persuasion  —  to  accept. 

"To  be  concise,  my  meaning  lies  like  this.  If 
you  come  to  me,  you  come  alone.  You  leave  your 
father  and  your  home;  you  break  your  life  volun- 
tarily in  two  —  setting  one  half  aside  with  things 
that  are  done  with  and  dead,  giving  the  other  half 
to  me  —  to  be  born  afresh. 

"  Perhaps  I  seem  inexplicable  —  I  know  that  I 
seem  cruel ;  in  reality  I  am  neither.  I  am  merely  a 
woman  who  has  fished  for  long  in  the  pond  of  Pub- 
licity, and  who  has  studied  the  seasons  —  and  the 
flies. 

"  My  dear  child,  in  your  present  life  there  is  an 
element  —  for  the  moment  we  will  call  it  an  clement, 


100  THE   CIRCLE 

to-morrow  I  can  be  explicit  if  you  desire  —  an  ele- 
ment that  has  wrapped  you  in  secrecy,  an  element 
that  brought  you  to  me  in  the  first  instance  upon  a 
mission  of — forgive  me  —  a  very  doubtful  kind. 
Now  this  element  is  your  own,  under  the  micro- 
scope its  particles  might  prove  innocent  enough  ; 
but  —  there  is  the  inevitable  but  —  is  it  the  sand  in 
which  to  set  the  reporter,  the  interviewer,  the  busy- 
body of  five  years  hence,  digging  with  his  little 
spade  ?  I  have  put  the  question  to  myself  in  fifty 
forms,  and  the  answer  has  unchangingly  been  '  No.' 

"  No.  You  are  going  to  be  too  great ;  you  are 
going  to  set  your  tent  too  fully  in  the  daylight. 
There  must  be  no  loophole  for  petty  spite. 

"Put  the  past  away  from  you  Every  woman 
learns  the  word  '  sacrifice '  at  some  period  of  her  life ; 
be  thankful  to  learn  it  now.  Tears  flow  easily  —  and 
dry  easily  —  at  sixteen.  For  the  rest,  I  have  taxed 
your  thoughts  enough ;  if  I  have  overtaxed  them  I 
can  only  plead  my  cause.  Come  to  me  to-morrow 
at  any  time ;  no  one  has  ever  been  more  looked  for 
than  you  will  be.  JEANNE  M  AXTEAD." 

There  was  a  dull  pause.  Anna  folded  the  letter, 
refolded  it  slowly  ;  then,  with  a  swift  movement, 
blew  out  the  light. 


PAET    ONE— CHAPTER   XV 

REACTION  falls  upon  some  natures  like 
an  enveloping  cloud,  wrapping  them  in  a 
stupor  of  calm. 
When  Anna   left  her  room  and   de- 
scended the  crooked  staircase,  her  manner  and  her 
step  were  subdued.     She  walked  to  the  door  of  the 
parlour  and  stood  looking  in.     In  the  room  the  fire 
burnt  brilliantly,  but  the  lamp  was  lowered ;  in  the 
conflicting  lights  Johann  moved  softly,  laying  the 
supper-table. 

Her  eyes  wandered  slowly  round,  vaguely  noting 
the  sameness  of  the  furniture,  the  unaltered  position 
of  the  books.  Then,  by  one  of  those  freaks  of 
chance  —  those  lights  and  shades  of  circumstances 
upon  which  human  endeavour  so  often  hangs  —  her 
vision  narrowed  to  Johann  and  his  task. 

She  stood  by  the  lintel  of  the  door  with  inert 
hands  and  eyes  half  shut — seeing  and  yet  not  see- 
ing ;  then  suddenly  she  stirred,  lifted  her  hand  and 
let  it  drop  again,  as  a  thought  pierced  her  mind.  It 
stung  her  with  the  force  of  pain,  scattering  her  calm. 
For  weeks  her  place  was  being  gently  and  unobtru- 
sively filled.  She  lifted  her  hand  again.  One  by 
one,  grade  by  grade,  the  irksome  tasks  had  been 


102  THE    CIRCLE 

lifted  from  her  shoulders  to  another's,  while  she 
stood  passively  by.  The  knowledge  was  clear-cut 
and  unerring ;  for  the  second  time  she  let  her  hand 
fall 

She  crossed  the  room  and  raised  the  wick  of  the 
lamp ;  then  she  passed  to  the  fire  and  crouched 
before  it,  spreading  her  fingers  to  the  blaze.  The 
wheel  of  her  ideas  had  ceased  to  turn.  The  click  of 
china  behind  her,  the  soft  motion  of  Johann's  feet  — 
pausing  here,  halting  there  —  absorbed  her  con- 
sciousness; beyond  him  her  thoughts  would  not 
stray.  The  knowledge  that  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  her  was  so  sharp,  the  certainty  that  his  lips 
trembled  and  yet  dreaded  to  speak  was  so  absolute, 
that  it  held  her  still.  At  last  with  an  effo:':  she 
broke  the  spell. 

"  Johann,  where  did  these  logs  come  from  ?  *  She 
nodded  towards  a  pile  of  wood,  stacked  to  dry  in  the 
warmth  of  the  fire. 

The  click  of  china  ceased.  In  imagination  she  saw 
Johann's  lips  fall  apart,  in  the  eager,  half-reluctant 
action  that  always  preceded  speech.  And  hot  upon 
the  fancy  came  another  thought ;  the  thought  of  a 
life  in  which  Johannes  lips  and  Johannes  words  and 
all  that  pertained  to  them  would  be  a  memory  — 
lapsing,  losing  detail  with  every  year.  The  thought 
frightened  her.  She  raised  her  voice. 

"  Johann,  where  did  they  come  from  —  these 
logs?" 

He  made  a  deprecating  sound.     "  You  have  often 


THE    CIRCLE  103 

said  how  fine  the  wood  fires  are.  A  ship  with  timber 
came  in  to-day ;  I  heard  of  it  —  and  I  remembered. 
It  was  very  simple."  He  stopped. 

Anna  stiffened  her  hands. 

"  And  you  carried  the  wood  home  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     It  was  very  simple."" 

There  was  a  wait.  A  burning  coal  dropped  with 
a  little  crash.  Anna  raised  her  head. 

"  The  stairs  were  cleaned  to-day ;  I  saw  a&  I  came 
in.  Who  cleaned  them  ?  " 

"  I  cleaned  them." 

A  groan  rose  to  Anna's  lips,  but  did  not  escape. 
She  looked  before  her  at  the  crackling  fire. 

"  Johann  ! " 

"Yes,  Anna." 

It  was  the  old  formula.  The  question  sharp  and 
decisive ;  the  answer  ready,  anticipating,  hungering 
to  comply. 

"Johann,  you  have  done  the  work  of  the  whole 
house  while  I  have  been  away.  When  will  you  do 
your  own  work,  all  the  tedious  work  that  father  sets 
you?* 

Johann  was  silent  and  embarrassed. 

"  Johann,  when  ?  " 

"  I  shall  find  time." 

She  changed  her  position.  Dropping  to  tte  edge 
of  the  fender,  she  turned  round.  "Johann,  you 
mean  that  you  will  sit  up  half  the  night  —  that  you 
slave  —  that  you  do  your  own  work  and  mine  as  well, 
while  I  stand  by  and  do  nothing  —  nothing  at  all." 


104  THE    CIRCLE 

The  words  dropped  separately,  incontestably ;  for 
the  first  time  in  weeks,  facts,  naked  and  cold,  stood 
shivering  in  the  light.  She  saw  Johann  and  she  saw 
herself.  Suddenly  she  rose. 

"  Johann,"  her  eyes  were  direct,  her  hands  were 
clasped  behind  her,  "Johann,  why  do  you  do  all 
this  for  me?" 

There  was  an  acute  silence ;  then  a  cup  slipped 
from  Johann's  hand.  He  stooped  and  fumbled  on 
the  floor.  Something  within  him  was  leaping  in 
answer  to  her  words ;  somewhere  in  his  inner  con- 
sciousness a  voice  was  crying,  "  Now  !  Now  !  "  It 
echoed  through  him,  it  reeled  in  his  brain.  He 
lifted  himself  laboriously  to  one  knee.  His  pulses 
vrere  bounding.  The  gates  of  life  seemed  ajar,  need- 
ing but  a  touch. 

"  Johann,  tell  the  truth.1* 

The  voice  sent  the  blood  to  his  forehead;  he 
caught  the  table  and  drew  himself  slowly  up,  then  he 
tuined  .to  her.  His'  face  was  .in  shadow,  hers  was  in 
the  fu41  light.  The  'arrangement  was  prophetic.  It 
struck  him  with  a  chill.  He  steadied  himself  and 
felt  the  tide  of  blood  recede. 

"  Anna — "*  he  began,  then  paused.  She  stood  un- 
consciously typifying  Fate.  The  red  crown  of  her 
hair,  the  darkness  of  her  eyes  — each  was  symbolic. 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  such  a  breat^j  as  he  had 
drawn  on  the  first  night,  at  his  first  sight  of  her. 

"Johann,"  she  said  again,  "why  do  you  do 
it?" 


THE    CIRCLE  105 

There  was  a  space  of  indecision,  a  moment  fraught 
*  fth  hesitancy  ;  then  he  spoke,  his  face  still  averted. 

"  Why  does  one  serve  God  ?  " 

Anna  stirred,  laying  her  fingers  on  his  arm.  A 
faint  shiver  passed  through  him,  but  he  did  not 
move. 

"  Some  serve  God  for  payment.  That  is  not  what 
you  mean?" 

He  was  silent. 

"  Johann  !  "     She  jerked  his  sleeve. 

Suddenly  and  awkwardly  he  turned ;  his  eyes  were 
full  of  pain.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  that  is  not  what  I 
mean.  There  is  another  service,  Anna,  beside  that." 
He  steadied  himself.  "  There  is  a  service  that  gives 
and  gives  —  because  it  must.'"  He  thrust  out  his 
hand  and  caught  hers.  "  A  service  of  the  heart,  not 
of  the  head.  A  service  where  the  heart  must 
give,  must  give — or  must  break—  His  fingers 
tightened,  his  eyes  burned.  Involuntarily  she  drew 
back. 

"  And  that  service,  Johaun  —  what  is  it  called  ?  " 

He  leant  forward ;  the  word  trembled  on  his 
tongue,  hung  on  the  air,  then  died  out  unspoken. 
With  a  hopeless  gesture  he  let  her  hand  fall. 

But  her  eyes  still  questioned. 

"  In  saying  God,  Johann,  do  you  mean  me  ?  "  A 
sense  of  awe  mingled  in  the  words ;  the  breath  of 
something  deep  and  intangible  brushed  her ;  the 
shadow  of  life  fell  on  her  in  an  impenetrable  cloud. 
"  Johann,  you  mean  —  "  She  paled  uncertainly. 


106  THE    CIRCLE 

Quite  steadily  he  returned  her  glance.  The  glow 
had  gone  from  his  face  as  the  light  from  a  quenched 
candle.  "  Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean.  You  saved  me 
—  you  are  God  to  me."" 

"  And  if  one  lost  God  ? "  Her  words  were  low 
and  indistinct.  "  Johann,  if  one  lost  God  ?  " 

He  raised  his  shoulders  automatically,  and  again 
thrust  out  his  hands,  but  without  touching  hers, 
"  I  have  said.  With  loss  —  the  heart  breaks."  He 
caught  up  a  piece  of  bread  and  bending  it  between 
his  fingers  broke  it  in  two ;  then  he  crossed  to  the 
fire  and  dropped  the  pieces  into  the  blaze. 

Anna  stood  by  the  table.  She  was  perfectly  silent, 
perfectly  still ;  she  was  fighting  inch  by  inch.  No 
one  who  glanced  at  her  eyes  could  have  seen  the 
tumult  behind  them  ;  no  one  who  watched  her  first 
forward  movement  could  have  guessed  that  with  it  a 
castle  toppled  summarily  from  the  skies.  The  battle 
was  vital,  absorbed,  intense.  At  last  reluctantly, 
step  by  step,  she  crossed  the  room. 

"  Johann,""  she  said. 

He  sprang  towards  her. 

"  Johann,  you  said  once  '  I  trust  you  !  *  Will  you 
say  it  again  now  —  to  please  me  ?  " 

With  a  sharp  movement  he  caught  her  hand. 
"  Ah,  more  than  myself.  For  always,  Anna  —  for 
always  !  " 

For  a  moment  she  looked  down  at  his  bent  head ; 
then  the  warmth  of  his  generosity  shook  her,  flowed 
with  a  rush  across  her  heart.  Her  tears  rose, 


THE    CIRCLE  107 

ring  her  sight ;  her  perplexity  and  her  doubt  met  and 
broke  in  a  sob. 

"  Oh,  Johann  ! "  she  cried  with  childish  abandon- 
ment. "  Johann  !  Johann ! " 

And  up  from  the  depths  of  remembrance,  clear 
and  far  as  a  bell  among  the  mountains,  mocking  and 
distinct  as  an  echo,  came  the  ghost  of  a  sentence. 

"Tears  flow  easily — and  dry  easily — at  sixteen  !" 

With  a  little  gasp  her  sobbing  ceased. 


PART  ONE— CHAPTER  XVI 

MRS.  M AXTEAD  blotted  the  letter  that 
she  was  writing  and  laid  it  on  the  top 
of  her  desk.  Then  she  pushed  back 
her  chair. 

For  two  minutes  she  had  been  conscious  that  Anna 
was  standing  in  the  doorway  ;  for  quite  one  minute 
she  had  been  aware  that  her  own  pulses  were  moving 
at  a  quickened  rate  ;  but  appearances  were  of  primary 
account.  She  was  careful  first  to  blot  the  letter, 
afterwards  to  turn  round. 

Her  unmoved  expression  as  she  greeted  the  girl 
did  her  credit.  Anna,  at  a  first  glance,  was  dis- 
concerting. Her  figure  was  limp,  her  face  marred 
by  sleeplessness  and  tears. 

Like  the  organiser  of  a  campaign,  Mrs.  Maxtead 
summed  up  the  situation.  She  bracketed  the  state 
of  affairs  and  her  own  plan  of  action  ;  then  she  went 
forward  with  both  hands  silently  held  dit. 

Anna  stood  motionless  for  a  second  ;  then  suddenly 
walked  past  her  into  the  room,  pausing  by  the  bed. 

"  I  only  came  for  a  minute,""  she  said.  "  I  did  n't 
want  to  come  at  all  —  but  it  seemed  right.  The 
letter  is  no  good !  No  good !  I  have  thought 
it  out  and  I  can't  doit — I  can't!"  Her  voice 


THE    CIRCLE  109 

jerked,  her  sentences  did  not  join.     Mrs.  Maxtead*9 
eyelids  drooped  a  shade. 

"  The  word  *  cannot '  is  so  tentative,"  she  said  at 
last  softly.  "  However  we  disguise  it,  it  is  always 
tentative.  It  was  invented  so."  She  moved  towards 
the  bed,  her  figure  fragile  against  the  whitened 
light,  —  a  fragility  in  contrast  to  the  expression  of 
her  mouth. 

"  Dear  little  girl !  "  With  a  caressing  touch  she 
laid  her  fingers  on  Annans  coat  and  opened  the  top 
button.  "  Dear  little  girl ! "  The  second  button 
came  undone. 

Anna  moved  impatiently. 

"  It  ""s  no  good !     You  must  n't.     It  only  hurts.** 

The  sky  outside  was  leaden  ;  great  raindrops  fell 
at  intervals,  each  with  a  little  splash.  Mrs.  Maxtead 
walked  to  the  window  and  half  drew  the  curtains ; 
then  she  stepped  to  the  fire  and  stirred  it  to  a  blaze. 
Long  tongues  of  flame  shot  up,  casting  lines  of 
brightness ;  she  watched  them  interestedly  as  she 
dropped  into  a  chair. 

**  Anna,"  she  said  deliberately,  "  I  wrote  you  a 
[whole  sermon.  Surely  you  will  cry  quits  ?  Proposals 
like  mine  are  not  disposed  of  in  six  or  seven  words  ; 
people  like  me  are  not  disposed  of  in  —  six  or  seven 
words." 

Anna  looked  round. 

tt  I  —  I  think  I  'd  like  to  go,**  she  said. 

"  Why  ?  n  The  word  was  intensely  fine,  incredi- 
bly sharp. 


110  THE    CIRCLE 

"Because  — ""  Anna's  strength  deserted  her. 
"  Because  my  mind  is  made  up,  you  know  —  fixed. 
Because  —  "  She  twisted  her  fingers. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  sat  very  still. 

"  Anna  —  come  here."" 

Anna  moved  reluctantly  forward. 

"Sit  down  !     It  tires  me  to  see  people  stand.11 

Still  reluctantly  Anna  drew  forward  a  chair  and 
obeyed.  She  trembled  to  shake  off  the  fascination 
that  was  holding  her,  to  stand  up  and  go ;  but  she 
lacked  the  courage  of  the  act.  She  sat  mute  and 
miserable. 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  voice  broke  in  again  —  low,  silky, 
reasonable. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  first  came  here  ?  " 

"  Nine  weeks.11 

"  In  those  nine  weeks  you  have  seen  more  than 
you  ever  saw  —  learnt  more  —  understood  more  ?  " 

Anna  nodded. 

"  And  —  this  is  not  meanness,  it  is  necessity ;  I 
want  to  force  a  point.  In  those  nine  weeks  you 
have  been  given,  constantly  given;  you  have  never 
once  been  asked  to  give.  Is  that  not  so  ?  " 

Anna  flushed  deeply. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  asked  after  a  pause. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  smiled.  "  That  is  right !  Life 
should  never  be  made  harder  than  it  is.  For  the 
moment,  I  want  the  small  gift  of  your  confidence.11 

The  flush  died  slowly  out  of  Annans  face.  She 
rose. 


THE    CIRCLE  ill 

The  other  held  out  her  hand.  "  Sit  down  again  ; 
it  is  not  so  very  terrible.  A  question  or  two  — 
that  is  all.""  She  leant  forward,  her  face  impassive, 
her  lashes  lowered.  It  was  a  bad  omen  for  an  oppo- 
nent when  she  hid  her  eyes.  Her  voice  had  never 
been  more  smooth  than  when  she  spoke  again. 

"  It  is  not  for  yourself,  Anna,  that  you  refuse  this 
offer?" 

"  No."     Anna's  tone  was  uneven  and  dragged. 

The  other  waited.  Her  next  question  came  in  a 
change  of  key. 

"  Your  father  is  eccentric.  You  have  often  said 
that  he  scarcely  knows  that  you  exist.  Am  I  right 
in  that  ?  " 

Anna  took  a  deep  breath.  For  the  first  time  the 
warmth  and  scent  of  the  room  seemed  to  suffocate. 
She  made  a  great  effort. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right." 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  eye  remained  upon  the  fire. 

"And  you  can  tell  me,  candidly  tell  me,  that 
it  is  for  a  man  who  ignores  you,  that  you 
refuse  ? "  The  voice  was  metallic ;  it  scattered 
Anna's  caution. 

"  No,"  she  said  hurriedly  ;  "  it  is  not  —  it  is  not 
for  him." 

"  Ah ! "  Mrs.  Maxtead  stirred  ever  so  little. 
"  Then  it  is  for  the  Austrian  —  the  man  who  stole 
my  jewels  ?  " 

Anna's  chair  made  a  dull  rasp  as  she  pushed  it 
back.  She  rose  ;  took  a  step  forward,  a  step  back ; 


112  ?H1.     CIRCLE 

then,  with  a  loss  of  vitality,  sank  into  her  seat  again. 
Long  ago  the  story  of  Judas  had  fascinated  her  from 
John  Desinskrs  lips.  The  vision  of  the  silver  pieces 
seemed  to  rise  now  and  float  before  her  mind. 
I:i  an  agony  of  self-accusation  she  clasped  her 
.hands. 

"  When  did  I  say  it  ?  "  she  said  slowly.  "  How 
did  I  say  it  ?  "  She  leant  forward  in  her  chair. 

From  her  place  by  the  h're  Mrs.  Maxtead  laughed. 
"  How  great  you  would  be  in  tragedy,"  she  said. 
41  But  you  need  not  accuse  yourself;  my  knowledge 
hasn't  come  from  you.  It  is  an  event  in  a  sequence 
of  events  —  nothing  more."  She  leant  back  and 
closed  her  eyes.  Her  face  was  perfectly  alert,  peiv 
fectly  serene ;  the  face  of  a  woman  who  appreciates 
the  moment  to  its  minutest  point. 

"  You  see,  when  a  child  like  you  starts  a  game  of 
consequences  with  me,  the  handicap  is  too  great ; 
the  result  is  too  clear.  On  the  first  day  that  you 
came  here  I  had  you  followed.  Since  then  I  have 
seen  you  constantly  —  with  other  people's  eyes ;  have 
wound  the  whole  skein  of  your  circumstances  thread 
by  thread.  Now,  what  have  you  to  say?"  Like  a 
flash  she  turned  the  brightness  of  her  eye  upon  the 
girl.  "  What  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

Anna  looked  up.     Her  lips  were  set. 

"I  suppose  —  I  am  like  a  mouse  in  a  trap,"  she 
said. 

"  Rather  descriptive !  But  the  trap  has  yet  to 
shut.  Is  it  to  be  war  between  us  ? " 


THE    CIRCLE  113 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"Then  I  shall  explain.  It  is  like  this  — "  She 
rose  and  crossed  to  the  girl's  side.  "  You  have  a 
possession  that  I  have  waited  all  my  life  to  handle. 
I  am  not  crueller,  not  more  self-seeking,  not  more 
unscrupulous  than  nineteen  out  of  every  twenty 
human  beings ;  I  have  the  courage  of  my  egotism, 
that  is  all.  You  have  put  this  thing  within 
my  grasp ;  and  now  that  I  have  all  but  closed 
my  fingers  on  it.  you  pull  it  back  —  and  you 
say  '  No.'  Now  as  strongly  as  you  say  '  No,1  I 
say  *  Yes.1  I  will  have  it  ;  my  desire  is  fixed 
on  it."  Her  voice,  cold  and  smooth,  never  rose  ; 
she  made  no  effective  gestures;  only  her  eyes  in- 
exorably compelled  the  girl's  gaze.  "  Yesterday  I 
pleaded  with  you,  Anna ;  to-day  I  do  not  plead  — 
I  demand."" 

Anna  rose.  From  the  chaos  round  her  one  object 
disentangled  itself — Johannes  face,  pitiful,  trusting, 
eloquent  in  appeal. 

"  It 's  no  good,  it  makes  no  difference." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  precisely  why  ?  " 

In  her  agitation,  Anna  walked  to  the  dressing- 
table  and  touched  the  silver  brushes.  "  You  have 
found  out  my  secret,"  she  said  unevenly  ;  "  if  I 
tell  you  another  it  will  scarcely  count.  First,  I 
refused  to  come  because  I  would  hurt  somebody 
else ;  now  I  refuse  because  I  hate  you ! "  She 
turned  round. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  passed  her  hand  over  her  hair.     A 


114  THE    CIRCLE 

very  faint  flush  touched  her  cheek,  then  died  away. 
"  In  five  years,"  she  said,  "  we  will  both  remember 
this  —  and  laugh.  I  am  glad  I  have  my  temper  in 
good  control." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"And  this  Austrian  —  is  his  honesty  really  as 
brittle  as  his  heart?11 

Anna  bit  her  lip. 

"  Did  he  make  you  his  —  confidante  in  the  jewel 
affair  ?  " 

"I  am  his  only  friend." 

"  A  dangerous  position  !  " 

Anna  was  silent. 

"  And  his  only  interest  in  life  —  as  well  as  his 
only  friend  ?  " 

"  Yes.11  At  the  root  of  Anna's  voice  there  was  a 
misgiving ;  she  crushed  it  down. 

"  Does  he  never  refer  to  the  jewels  now  ?  w 

"  No  ;  he  never  refers." 

"  Because  his  innocence  is  so  well  proved  ?  w 

"  Oh,  you  are  very  cruel !  " 

"  He  would  court  a  trial,  you  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.     I  don't  know  !     I  don't  know  ! " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  smiled.  "  Anna,  there  is  some- 
thing here  —  "  She  thoughtfully  crossed  the  room. 
"  Something  for  you  to  read."  She  stopped  by  the 
desk  and  her  hand  hovered  above  it.  "  Sometimes 
sidelights  are  very  illuminating."  She  searched,  and 
drew  out  a  letter.  It  was  written  in  careful  English 
in  a  fine,  foreign  hand. 


THE    CIRCLE  115 

"«)usx  glance  through  it.""  She  waved  the  sheets 
and  they  rustled  a  little  against  the  air. 

Mechanically  Anna  stretched  out  her  arm.  A 
great  fear,  a  great  shadow  seemed  lurching  towards 
her.  She  opened  the  letter  cautiously,  as  if  conta- 
gion lurked  between  the  lines. 

"The  whole  letter?" 

Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  up.  "  Not  quite  the  whole 
letter  ;  say  from  the  third  page." 

Anna  found  the  place. 

"  In  the  matter  of  the  jewels,  my  dear  friend,"  the 
writing  ran,  "  I  commend  your  philosophy  !  For 
myself,  I  can  claim  no  such  calm.  In  one  direction 
at  least,  my  fingers  itch." 

"  Who  wrote  this  ?  "  Anna's  tone  was  sharp  ;  then 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  read  on  again. 

"  My  fingers  itch  after  my  lost  messenger,  whom 
your  whirlpool  of  London  seems  to  have  caught  in 
its  eddy.  But  as  yet  I  do  not  repine ;  such  carrion 
rise  to  the  surface  if  one  has  the  patience  to  wait. 
When  the  time  arrives  I  promise  you  I  shall  possess 
myself  to  the  value  of  the  stones.  I  shall  urge 
the  prosecution  to  its  limits  —  and  the  limits  should 
be  wide.  The  fellow  is  either  imbecile  or  a  villain  ; 
in  one  case  or  in  the  other  he  will  obtain  his 
deserts.  As  my  pen  inscribes  this,  I  think  I  see 
you  smile ! " 

Anna  laid  down  the  letter  and  glanced  up.  She 
would  not  admit  the  thought  that  was  knocking  at 
her  heart ;  but  against  her  will  her  eyes  mirrored  it. 


116  THE    CIRCLE 

"This  is  Golstock  ?"  she  said. 

**  That  is  Golstock." 

Her  lips  opened  stiffly.  Mrs.  Maxtead  read  their 
question  and  made  a  motion  with  her  hand. 

"  In  that  letter, "  she  said,  "  you  have  the  whole 
man.  It  is  an  interesting  letter.  The  loss  of  the 
stones  he  accepts  —  he  shrugs  his  shoulders  at ;  but 
the  fact  of  being  duped  he  does  not  accept.  That 
rankles  like  a  pebble  in  a  wound.  But,  my  dear 
little  girl,  we  fence !  We  have  fenced  all  along."" 
The  quizzical  tone  died  out  of  her  voice  ;  she 
ceased  to  guard  her  eyes.  She  was  keen,  direct, 
set  to  her  point. 

Instinctively  Anna  straightened  herself. 

"  My  dear  child,  let  me  put  things  to  you  as  they 
are.  Let  the  issue  be  plain."" 

Anna  moved  inconsequently  to  the  desk  and 
picked  up  a  paper-knife. 

"  I  have  never  seen  this  Austrian  —  you  know 
that.  But  I  have  made  a  picture  of  him  through 
you  —  through  Golstock  —  through  my  maid  Ce- 
leste. I  know  him  as  if  I  had  met  him  a  hundred 
times.  In  many  points  he  is  like  a  dog  ;  and  like  a 
maimed  dog  he  has  appealed  to  you.  He  is  gentle, 
faithful,  trusting  —  trusting  above  all  things ;  but 
he  lacks  one  trait  that  the  dog  possesses.  He  is  a 
coward ! " 

Anna  caught  her  breath. 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  coward !  You  say  that  if  he  lost 
you  his  heart  would  break.  Now  that  works  two 


THE   CIRCLE  ill 

ways.  The  man  who  breaks  his  heart  in  one  instance 
may  cut  his  throat  in  another ! " 

The  knife  fell  from  Anna's  hand  to  the  desk. 
Shakingly  she  picked  it  up.  Her  face  was  colourless 
as  she  turned  round.  "  I  don't  understand,"  she 
said.  "  I  don't  understand." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  don't  understand?,* 

She  was  silent, 

Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  slowly  towards  her. 

44  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

A  wild  expression  swept  over  the  girl's  eyes. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  came  nearer  by  a  step.  With  her, 
excitement  was  a  white  heat,  nearer  to  frost  than  fire. 

"It  is  because  you  do  understand  that  you  are 
silent.  Before  a  great  fear  speech  overflows;  be- 
fore a  great  fact  it  shrinks  away.  Now  in  -this 
affair  there  are  three  factors :  Golstock,  waiting  like 
a  hungry  spider ;  I,  reacty  with  a  turn  of  my  wrist  to 
twitch  the  fly  into  his  web ;  you,  midway  between 
us,  holding  the  reins  of  Destiny."  She  laughed 
gently  between  her  words.  "Which  is  to  come 
^uppermost  ?  Spider  or  fly  ?  " 

Anna  moved  across  the  room.    **  You  could  n't —  ?n 

K 

she  said. 

Her  tormentor  ceased  to  laugh.  **  My  dear  child, 
since  I  was  nine  years  old  I  have  rated  myself  first. 
In  a  crisis  habit  always  counts.  I  'd  face  facts,  if  I 
were  you." 

Anna  moved  on  till  the  door  was  reached.  At 
the  door  she  turned,  leaning  her  shoulder  against  it. 


118  THE    CIRCLE 

"  You  don't  think  that  Johann  stole  the  stones  ?  " 

"  Candidly,  I  do  not." 

"  Then  you  think  —  ?" 

"  That  his  presence  —  his  existence  hinders  me  ; 
beyond  that  I  do  not  think.  If  he  goes  to  his  pun- 
ishment it  will  be  you  who  sent  him  there.  My 
conscience  will  be  clear." 

"  You  are  cruel !  " 

"  I  am  human.  You  are  looking  at  the  present 
moment;  I  am  looking  five  years  ahead.  One  day 
you  will  thank  me  for  my  long  sight.  Go  home, 
and  face  things.  Question  yourself,  question  Johann ; 
if  you  find  him  ready  to  meet  Golstock "  —  she 
lengthened  her  words  — "  ready  to  face  the  evi- 
dence of  the  clasp  —  brought  back  by  you  as  resti- 
tution ;  the  evidence  of  his  life  in  hiding,  then  — 
well  and  good  !  You  cannot  do  better  than  sit  down 
in  your  curio  shop  —  and  wait.  But  if — if,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  is  not  so  ready  to  take  the  risk  ;  if 
the  loss  of  you  in  a  secure  refuge  seems  more  endurable 
than  the  loss  of  you  in  a  prison,  then "  —  she  let  the 
sentence  fall  and  caught  it  up  again,  urgency  and 
speed  tipping  the  words  —  "  then,  make  your  fare- 
wells to-night  and  come  to  me  in  the  morning  ;  I 
shall  give  you  until  ten.  Sudden  decisions  —  forced 
decisions  hold  the  best." 

Anna's  shoulder  pressed  heavily  against  the  panel 
of  the  door. 

"  And  if  I  —  if  I  were  to  come  —  "  The  words 
were  faint,  reluctant.  "  If  I  were  —  to  come  — 
Johann  would  be  safe?" 


THE    CIRCLE  119 

"  My  dear,  am  I  Golstock's  bloodhound  ?  " 

Anna  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  moved  for- 
ward, then,  on  the  threshold,  turned  back. 

"  How  hard  you  are  ! "  she  said. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laughed.  "It  is  like  a  doctor 
operating  on  a  child.  The  knife  hurts ;  the  child 
screams ;  but  the  doctor  can  afford  to  smile." 
Calmly  picking  up  Golstock's  letter  from  the  floor, 
she  folded  it. 

In  the  doorway  Anna  still  stood  irresolute. 

"I  —  I  —  I  hate  you  ! "  she  said  suddenly.  "I  — ' 
I  hate  you ! "  And  she  fled  downstairs. 


PART  ONE—  CHAPTER  XV11 

LD  Solny  sat  by  the  parlour  fire,  im- 
mersed in  a  book.  When  Anna  entered 
the  room,  he  raised  his  eyes  absently, 

shifted  his  position,  then  dropped  his 
gaze  again. 

She  came  in  hurriedly.  Her  first  glance  was  at 
the  Dutch  clock.  The  hands  marked  eight.  Her 
conscience  stung  her,  and  she  looked  towards  the 
table;  but  the  supper  of  an  hour  ago  had  been 
removed.  In  place  of  the  after  fragments,  the 
crumbs,  the  soiled  plates,  a  clean  cloth  met  her 
glance ;  a  solitary  cup  and  saucer,  a  solitary1"  knife 
and  fork,  newly  polished  in  expectation  of  her  com- 
ing. Her  eyes  strayed  from  the  table  to  the  fire ; 
with  a  dull  sinking  of  the  heart  she  saw  the  kettle 
ready  placed.  She  turned  to  her  father. 

u  Where  is  Johann  ?  **  she  said. 

Solny  took  the  number  of  his  page,  then  closed 
the  book.  "  Johann  !  "  he  repeated  vaguely  ;  then 
he  collected  himself.  "Johann  has  gone  for  hi» 
walk."  He  opened  the  book  again. 

Anna  moved  towards  the  table.  There  was  a  hor- 
rible  conclusi  veness  in  the  words ;  they  seemed  a  last 
spur,  were  a  last  spur  needed  ;  the  comprehensive 


THE    CIRCLE  121 

proof,  suggesting  everything,  covering  everything. 
The  picture  was  complete  in  its  clearness.  The  fugi- 
tive who  feared  the  open  day ;  the  man  who  crept 
for  exercise  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  under  cloak 
of  the  night.  She  opened  her  coat,  button  by  but- 
ton ;  then  pulled  it  off  suddenly  and  threw  it  on  a 
chair. 

She  was  splashed  with  mud ;  her  boots  were 
soaked ;  she  had  walked  for  hours  without  hanger 
or  fatigue.  But  Nature  was  lying  in  wait  for  her. 
On  the  table  were  cheese  and  butter  and  freshly- 
baked  bread.  With  a  childish  reluctance  her  eyes 
travelled  back  and  rested  upon  them  ;  then  her  nos- 
trils distended,  and  moving  to  the  table  she  caught 
up  a  knife. 

For  five  minutes  she  ate  hungrily  and  in  silence ; 
then  she  pushed  her  plate  away. 

With  food  events  loomed  clearer;  her  position  faced 
her  without  thought  on  her  part.  She  sat  down 
and  rested  her  elbows  on  the  table,  supporting  her 
face  between  her  hands.  Once  her  lips  parted,  but 
she  restrained  the  words.  Once  she  glanced  at  her 
father,  but  her  face  dropped  back  to  its  former  atti- 
tude ;  his  head  was  bent  above  his  book. 

At  last,  with  a  swerving  motion,  she  pushed  back 
her  chair  and  walked  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room. 
At  the  farther  end  were  packing-cases  —  some 
empty,  others  half  full.  She  looked  down  upon 
them  silently;  then  turned  and  retraced  her  -step*. 
With  her  hand  on  the  table  she  paused. 


122  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Father  "  she  said  unsteadily. 

Old  Solny  did  not  hear. 

She  drew  in  her  breath  and  crossed  agitatedly  to 
the  window  ;  kneeling  on  the  window-sill,  she  looked 
out. 

The  blurred  panes  gave  on  the  little  yard.  With 
attentive  listening  she  could  hear  the  reluctant  rain- 
drops falling  on  the  buckets  and  zinc  cans ;  with  a 
stretch  of  imagination  she  could  see  the  grass  blades 
between  the  cobbles,  that  in  summer  time,  seen 
through  the  imperfect  glass,  spread  and  elongated  to 
prairie  greenness.  The  idea  blew  across  her  with  a 
breath  of  past  things.  She  saw  herself  a  baby  with 
big  eyes  and  pale  face,  little  hands  clasped,  little 
cheeks  pressed  against  the  glass,  lost  in  wonder  at 
the  sight.  How  long  ago  it  seemed ! 

She  sighed. 

How  long  ago!  How  much  farther,  how  much 
longer  would  it  seem?  She  tightened  her  hands 
one  above  the  other,  and  pressed  her  hot  face  against 
the  pane.  One  tear  —  two  —  splashed  down  in  slow 
accompaniment  to  the  rain ;  with  a  swift  impulse 
she  moved  till  her  lips  touched  the  glass.  Then  she 
turned  and  her  feet  came  sharply  to  the  ground. 

"  Father  !  "  she  said  again. 

Solny  moved  without  turning  round.  "  Yes,  my 
child." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  moment,  perhaps  the  unwonted 
tenderness  of  the  words,  but  her  heart  swelled :  a 
sob  rose  to  her  throat  and  was  driven  back. 


THE    CIRCLE  123 

"Father  —  "  Her  head  felt  very  light.  She 
walked  slowly  round  the  room,  pausing  at  each 
point,  halting  finally  behind  his  chair.  "  Father  —  * 

Curiosity  held  no  place  in  Solny.  He  stared 
straight  before  him  at  the  fire. 

"  Father,  there  is  a  question  I  want  to  ask." 

"Well,  my  child?"  The  tone  was  gentle  and 
vague. 

"Father,  which  is  easier  to  mend  —  a  broken 
heart  or  a  cut  throat  ? "  Her  breath  seemed  to 
catch  and  break. 

There  was  a  pause.  Her  eyes  were  turned  nervously 
on  the  door  that  led  into  the  shop ;  to  her  strained 
ears  the  clock  ticked  with  incredible  loudness. 

"  Father  —  ?  "  she  urged. 

He  lifted  his  head  and  answered  as  from  a  dream. 

"  There  is  no  mending,  my  child,  for  either ;  they 
differ,  that  is  all." 

Anna's  fingers  were  steel  against  his  arm.  "  And 
the  difference  —  the  difference  ?  " 

His  head  drooped. 

"  One  makes  life  so  long,"  he  said,  "  that  a  man 
dare  not  look  ahead  ;  the  other  makes  life  so  short 
that  he  dare  not  look  behind."  He  still  spoke  as 
from  a  dream. 

Anna's  fingers  relaxed,  his  arm  dropped ;  she 
stood  for  a  moment  with  shoulders  stiff  as  his  own. 
Then  she  extended  her  fingers,  moving  them  slowly 
downward,  till  they  touched  his  hand. 

"  Good-night,  father,"  she  said. 


124  CHE    CIRCLE 

"  Good-night,  my  child.  Sleep  well ! "  He  took 
up  his  book. 

She  hesitated,  waited,  then  drew  away.  Heavily 
she  picked  up  her  coat  and  crossed  the  room.  At 
the  door  she  stopped. 

"Father  —  "  she  said.    "Father —    Good-night!" 

But  the  words  did  not  reach.  Soluy  settled  his 
glasses,  leant  back  in  his  chair,  and  shifted  the 
position  of  his  book. 


PART  ONE— CHAPTER  XV III 


1 


night  Anna  prayed  carefully;  but 
she  knelt  on  the  bare  boards  by  the  win- 
dow where  her  eyes,  resolutely  wide  open, 
could  catch  no  glint  of  the  carpet  strip 
beside  the  bed. 

Rising  from  her  knees,  she  blew  out  the  candle 
and  undressed  in  the  dark.  Once  between  the  sheets 
she  slept,  the  heavy  sleep  of  a  mind  and  body  worn 
out ;..  though  her  eyelashes  were  wet  and  her  breath, 
for  many  minutes,  came  long-drawn  with  the  shudder 
of  an  underlying  sob. 

On  waking  the  next  morning  she  lay  with  closed 
eyes  till  the  shock  of  recollection  ran  through  her  to 
her  finger-tips,  and  she  sprang  out  of  bed. 

In  an  instant  she  was  by  the  window  ;  the  curtain 
was  thrust  back ;  and  her  glance,  still  dazed  with 
sleep,  was  falling  on  the  sky,  on  the  murky  roofs,  on 
the  first  damp  greyness  of  the  day. 

She  shivered  and  rubbed  her  eyes;  then  silently 
crept  to  the  door  and  listened.  The  house  was  still ; 
her  own  breath,  coming  unevenly,  was  the  only  inti- 
mation of  life.  She  turned  back  into  the  room  and 
stood  for  a  moment  petrified  by  the  isolation.  Then 
from  downstairs,  harshly  and  stridently,  the  Dutch 


126  THE    CIRCLE 

clock  struck  six.  She  counted  the  strokes  fearfully ; 
as  the  last  died  out  she  stirred  and  looked  down  at 
her  bare  feet. 

Her  clothes  lay  within  a  yard  of  her.  They  lay 
precisely  as  they  had  lain  morning  after  morning 
since  first  she  had  learnt  to  dress  herself.  Slowly 
she  stretched  out  her  fingers  and  felt  them  one  by 
one;  there  was  something  ghostly  and  unreal  in 
their  touch.  She  shivered,  drew  a  garment  towards 
her,  and  mechanically  began  to  dress. 

The  dressing  was  a  slow  affair.  Her  hands  fumbled 
over  buttons  and  halted  at  the  tying  of  knots.  She 
moved  awkwardly,  as  if  impelled  by  a  force  not  quite 
her  own.  Even  the  shock  of  the  cold  water  as  she 
washed  left  her  still  benumbed. 

Sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  she  combed  and 
plaited  her  hair ;  then  she  rose,  and  lifting  her  hat 
from  its  peg,  put  it  on.  Her  coat,  still  damp  from 
last  night's  rain,  was  thrown  across  a  chair ;  she  took 
it  up  slowly,  shook  it  and  forced  her  arms  through 
the  tight  sleeves.  Then  very  silently  she  straight- 
ened herself  and  turned  about  —  ready,  save  for  her 
boots. 

With  the  same  slowness  of  motion,  she  took  a  step 
forward  and  placed  her  hands  on  the  foot-rail  of  the 
bed,  letting  her  gaze  run  furtively  along  the  wall. 

In  the  struggling  light  John  Desinski's  childish 
portrait  of  her  stared  at  her  with  its  questioning  eyes. 
Dimly  she  could  follow  the  tangle  of  the  red  hair, 
the  soft  outline  of  the  face.  She  remembered  the 


THE    CIRCLE  127 

day  of  its  painting.  How  gay  he  had  been  !  How 
amusing !  What  stories  he  had  told  to  keep  her  still ! 

Her  eyes  stared  back  into  the  pictured  eyes,  and  a 
void  seemed  suddenly  to  stretch  before  her.  She 
shivered  again,  but  her  hands  tightened  on  the  rail 
and  her  eyes  moved  in  their  survey,  travelling  from 
one  poor  ornament  to  another  with  deliberate  care. 
Then  for  a  moment  her  lids  drooped. 

Until  now  she  had  guarded  her  glance ;  but  now 
with  a  firm  movement  she  raised  her  body,  leant  over 
the  rail,  and  let  her  eyes  rest  long  and  steadily  on 
the  carpet  beside  the  bed.  It  was  the  crucial  test. 
In  the  glimmering  light  the  blue  and  orange  stood 
out  with  sharp  distinctness ;  the  pattern  seemed  cut 
as  with  a  knife.  She  looked  in  perfect  silence,  as  she 
might  have  looked  on  an  unconscious  animaL  Her 
eyes  smarted,  her  throat  swelled.  Then  suddenly 
she  dropped  to  the  ground,  picked  up  her  boots,  and 
carrying  them  in  her  hand,  walked  steadfastly  to  the 
door. 

The  door-handle  turned  with  a  creak  that  brought 
her  heart  to  her  lips;  but  she  stepped  across  the 
landing.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  paused,  but 
the  pause  was  momentary.  At  the  third  step  she 
stopped  and  leant  against  the  wall;  the  smarting 
behind  her  eyes  had  become  a  burning  pain,  an  ache 
of  parting  no  longer  to  be  denied.  Her  whole  form 
swayed  backward  with  her  impulse,  but  she  caught 
herself  in  the  nick  of  time.  With  a  stealthy  rush 
she  began  to  descend  the  stairs. 


128  THE    CIRCLE 

At  each  crack  and  strain  of  the  worn-out  steps 
her  breath  caught ;  at  each  succeeding  silence  it  was 
let  go  again. 

From  the  attic  Johann  could  hear  nothing.  Her 
father  slept  like  the  dead.  She  reiterated  the  knowl- 
edge silently  again  and  again.  Then  at  last  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  was  reached.  There  she  stopped. 

From  the  thought  of  the  shop -door,  with  its  bar 
and  its  cumbersome  hinges,  her  mind  drew  back ; 
instinctively  it  turned  to  the  kitchen  and  the  yard 
with  their  narrow  entrance  into  the  Passage ;  and 
almost  without  volition  her  decision  was  made. 

Downstairs,  the  ticking  of  the  clock  filled  all  the 
spaces.  The  kitchen  with  its  raked-out  fire  possessed 
a  human  loneliness.  Its  bare  grey  windows  had  the 
look  of  eyes  ;  its  familiar  objects  the  sense  of  out- 
stretched hands.  She  crept  through  hastily  —  the 
great  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  her  soul.  The  door  into 
the  yard  was  easy  of  management ;  the  key  turned 
smoothly,  the  latch  lifted  with  scarcely  a  click,  and 
the  raw  air  poured  through  the  aperture  with  a 
rush. 

She  stepped  hastily  out  and  drew  the  door  behind 
her.  Then  she  sat  down  upon  the  doorstep  and 
pulled  on  her  boots. 

With  the  chill  of  the  day  the  wave  of  her  resolu- 
tion receded,  leaving  a  dull  fear.  A  dazed,  over- 
whelming loneliness  seemed  to  lift  from  the  enfolding 
gloom  ;  her  fingers  fumbled  with  the  boot-laces  ;  her 
head  drooped.  Then  suddenly  she  rose. 


THE    CIRCLE  129 

"  I  cannot !  Oh,  I  cannot !  "  The  words  rushed 
out,  inarticulate  and  vague.  She  laid  her  hand 
against  the  mouldering  plaster  of  the  house ;  but  the 
crevices  seemed  to  whisper  back,  echoing  her  words ; 
the  heavy  shadows  to  combine  and  push  her  forth. 
She  gripped  the  wall,  but  the  plaster  and  the  mould 
peeled  off  between  the  fingers  in  green  strips. 

In  sudden  panic  she  turned  and  raised  the  latch. 
Heedless  of  her  boots  upon  the  tiles,  she  re-crossed 
the  kitchen  floor.  The  dream  that  had  wrapped  her 
since  her  sleeping  had  dissolved.  She  was  awake. 

From  the  kitchen  she  passed  into  the  parlour ; 
there,  too,  were  the  staring  windows  and  the  raked- 
out  fire.  It  was  like  walking  through  a  house  of 
death-  The  longing  to  call,  to  raise  her  voice  till 
the  whole  house  answered,  filled  her ;  but  she  gripped 
her  hands  and  set  her  lips. 

She  walked  across  the  room  and  laid  her  finger  on 
the  farther  door  ;  very  gently  she  pushed  it  forward 
and  the  sparse  light  from  the  parlour  window  fell 
into  the  shop. 

It  fell  on  the  counter,  worn  shiny  by  many  hands ; 
on  the  cobwebs,  festooning  the  ceiling  like  dusty 
banners ;  on  the  ancient  firearms  and  rusty  swords. 

She  stared,  holding  her  breath.  She  had  never 
loved  these  things,  but  they  had  been  her  life  ;  they 
had  meant  existence.  She  moved  forward  step  by 
step. 

For  days  —  months  —  years  to  come  they  would 
remain  unchanged.  Morning  after  morning  the 


130  THE    CIRCLE 

shutters  would  be  taken  down  ;  morning  after  morn- 
ing the  dazzling  daylight  would  pour  in,  like  an 
invading  army.  Her  father  would  take  his  position 
by  the  desk  ;  Johann  would  take  his  place  behind  the 
counter ;  the  quiet,  uneventful  round  of  barter  would 
go  on  and  on.  Day  after  day  —  day  after  day. 
Only  in  the  kitchen,  in  the  parlour,  in  the  little  yard 
all  would  be  still  —  quite  still. 

She  closed  her  eyes,  but  with  closed  eyes  the  image 
of  Johann,  so  frequently  recurrent,  rose  painfully. 
She  started  alert  again. 

Johann  would  never  understand.  With  a  new  con- 
fusion the  new  thought  sprang  up.  Johann  would 
think  —  She  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  What 
would  Johann  think  ?  Leaving  like  this  —  without 
a  word  —  without  a.  message  —  without  good-bye  ! 

Her  eyes  travelled  down  the  counter,  over  a  pile 
of  military  cloaks,  then  upward  to  the  black  slate 
and  its  recording  chalk,  hanging  side  by  side  upon 
the  wall.  How  many  games  of  "Noughts  and 
Crosses "  they  had  served  for  in  childish  days ! 

She  stood  with  a  dazed  mind  ;  her  ideas  rose  and 
fell  —  each  lifting  itself  to  suffocate  the  last.  Then 
with  a  little  cry  she  sprang  back,  her  hand  upon  the 
door.  The  silence  had  been  rudely  broken.  The  Dutch 
clock  had  struck  again  —  seven  inexorable  beats. 

In  half  an  hour  Johann  would  be  downstairs. 
Even  now  he  was  awake.  In  sudden  fear  she  drew 
back  into  the  parlour ;  but  she  left  the  communica- 
tion door  ajar. 


THE    CIRCLE  131 

She  glanced  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left ;  she 
passed  her  hand  again  over  her  eyes.  Then  she 
raised  her  glance  to  the  clock.  It  marked  five  min- 
utes past  the  hour.  Her  feet  seemed  weighted  to 
the  floor  ;  she  feared  to  go ;  she  dreaded  to  stay. 

Without  a  word !  Without  good-bye !  The 
thought  rang  through  her  confusion ;  swung  to 
the  ticking  of  the  time. 

Slowly,  slowly  she  retraced  her  steps ;  slowly  she 
passed  into  the  shop  and  behind  the  counter ;  blindly 
she  stumbled  over  the  cloaks ;  then  hesitatingly  she 
stood  before  the  slate.  With  her  eyes  on  the  ground 
she  took  up  the  chalk. 

Her  fingers  were  numb ;  her  mind  was  numb ;  her 
hand  poised  itself  irresolute. 

Somewhere  upstairs  a  chair  was  overturned.  She 
jerked,  and  the  chalk  made  a  white  line  on  the  black 
surface.  Shakingly  she  stiffened  her  wrist,  wiped  the 
slate,  then  began  to  write. 

She  wrote  slowly,  painfully,  indistinctly ;  the  let- 
ters were  jagged  and  stiff. 

"  Anna  will  come  back." 

Then,  without  a  glance  at  her  work,  without  a 
backward  look  she  replaced  the  chalk  and  walked 
into  the  parlour ;  from  the  parlour  to  the  kitchen  ; 
from  the  kitchen  into  the  yard ;  from  the  yard  out 
into  the  street. 


PART     TWO— CHAPTER    I 

IT  was  an  April  day  ;  a  day  of  cool  sunshine, 
budding  leaves  and  promise.    On  either  side  of 
Mrs.  Maxtead's  hall-door  was  a  narrow  win- 
dow ;    Branks,  from  his  position  in  the  hall, 
watched  the  ebb  and  flow  of  life  through  the  glass. 
Looking  to  the  left,  he  could  scan  the  young  green 
of  the  Park  trees,  and  raising  his  glance  could  catch 
a  glint  of  pale  blue  sky  ;  but  his  eyes  had  an  absent 
expression.     One  is  apt  to  become  absent  when  one 
has  gazed  on  the  same  scene  with  small  intermission 
for  more  than  eight  years.     Not  that  Branks  com- 
plained ;  his  bread  was  buttered  with  a  liberal  hand, 
and  he  understood  the  value  of  butter  to  an  ounce. 

His  eyes  continued  to  skim  the  greenness ;  then 
verged  to  the  nearer  grey  of  the  road  with  its  jin- 
gling stream  of  vehicles ;  its  bright,  swift  rush  of  life. 
London  was  filling;  with  every  incoming  train  the 
flood  of  humanity  thickened  ;  with  each  new  morn- 
ing blinds  were  raised,  tradesmen's  ladders  borne 
away,  furniture  resurrected  from  its  holland  cover- 
ings. The  sense  of  a  brilliant  season  was  in  the 
air. 

Branks  speculated  on  the  point  with  lazy  satisfac- 
tion. He  was  a  little  stouter,  a  little  less  supercilious 


THE    CIRCLE  133 

than  in  old  days ;  time  had  dealt  with  him  as  it 
deals  with  a  stone  wall  —  smoothing  his  surface  and 
rounding  his  corners.  "  In  ten  years,"  Mrs.  Maxtead 
.sometimes  said,  "  Branks  will  be  tolerable  ;  in  twenty 
he  will  be  invaluable;  in  thirty  — "  But  Branks 
was  supremely  unconscious  of  his  promised  fate. 

He  watched  the  flower-girl  on  the  opposite  path- 
way ;  he  recognised  an  acquaintance  on  a  passing 
brougham,  and  leant  nearer  to  the  glass ;  then  all 
at  once  a  gleam  of  genuine  interest  brightened  his 
face  and  he  stood  upright. 

"  An  ""ansom,"  he  ejaculated,  "  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon." He  looked  at  the  hall  clock  to  verify  his 
impression,  then  his  eyes  returned  to  the  window. 

A  second  hansom,  laden  with  luggage,  had  drawn 
up  behind  the  first;  then  almost  simultaneously,  a 
third  swayed  into  view  ;  the  curiosity  in  Branks's 
mind  became  almost  a  pain. 

With  a  great  shaking  of  harness  and  slipping  of 
hoofs,  the  horses  had  pulled  up.  To  Branks  there 
was  something  almost  portentous  in  the  clatter  of 
sound ;  he  peered  through  the  window,  then  caught 
his  breath.  A  lady  descended,  paid  the  cabman,  and 
turned  to  pat  the  horse.  He  felt  his  mouth  gape. 

Where  had  he  seen  her  before  ?  The  question 
revolved  slowly  through  his  brain. 

She  was  tall  —  taller  for  the  straightness  of  her 
figure  and  the  poise  of  her  head  ;  but  she  was  some- 
thing more ;  from  the  curve  of  her  hat  to  her  per- 
fectly-shod feet  she  was  distinguished,  original, 


134  THE    CIRCLE 

striking.  She  wore  a  travelling-coat  of  dark  sable 
and  carried  a  bunch  of  violets  in  her  hand. 

Where  had  he  seen  her  before  ?  His  dull  mind  was 
twisted  by  the  question.  The  outline  was  so  familiar, 
yet  so  unfamiliar,  so  tantalising,  so  aggravating. 
Then  quite  swiftly  she  turned,  and  he  gasped  in 
audible  relief. 

He  remembered  the  portrait  in  the  dining-room, 
the  girl  in  the  trailing  muslin  dress  and  wide- 
brimmed  hat.  Only  yesterday  his  mistress  had 
turned  from  a  pile  of  newspapers  and  nodded  to  the 
picture.  "  The  greatest  actress  in  Europe,  Branks  ! " 
she  had  said ;  and  he  had  replied,  "  Yes,  ma'am,""  in 
his  most  deferential  tone. 

With  a  flourish  he  threw  the  door  wide. 

The  stranger  ran  up  the  steps  ;  her  lips  were  smil- 
ing, and  her  eyes  seemed  to  reflect  the  smile. 

"  Branks  ! "  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand. 

Branks  drew  back  ;  custom  and  good  training  were 
strong  within  him  ;  but  the  hand  was  still  held  out, 
and  there  is  a  charm  before  which  the  most  perfect 
training  in  the  world  goes  inevitably  to  the  wall. 
With  an  awkward  movement  he  advanced. 

"  Ma'am  —  miss  —  "  He  was  somewhat  inco- 
herent. "  We  have  heard  of  your  success,  miss. 
We  all  feel  proud — if  I  might  say.'" 

She  laughed,  but  her  eyes  darkened  for  a  second. 

"  It 's  good  to  be  home  again,  Branks.  Where  's 
Mrs.  Maxtead  ?  In  her  bedroom  P  All  right ; 
don't  announce  me.  Just  see  to  my  boxes  —  and  to 


THE    CIRCLE  135 

my  maid ;  she 's  somewhere  in  the  third  cab."  She 
ran  across  the  hall ;  but  on  the  lowest  step  of  the 
stairs  she  paused. 

"  Branks ! " 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Maxtead's  bedroom  still  white  ?  In  all  the 
times  I  Ve  seen  her,  I  Ve  never  remembered  to  ask." 

"  The  room  is  still  white,  miss." 

"  Ah  !  "     She  turned  and  flew  up  the  stairs. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laid  down  her  newspaper  with  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  start  she  had  ever  allowed 
herself. 

"  Anna ! "  she  said  sharply.  "  Anna  —  from  the 
very  skies ! " 

The  girl  crossed  tne  room  eagerly.  "From  no- 
where so  high,  Jeanne."  She  bent  laughingly  and 
kissed  the  other's  cheek. 

Mrs.  Maxtead,  in  her  turn,  laughed.  "  Listen  to 
this  —  I  was  reading  it  as  you  opened  the  door. 
'Mdlle.  Solny,  the  young  Parisian  actress,  contem- 
plates a  tour  in  Russia  before  opening  her  season  in 
London  in  the  middle  of  May.1  A  trifle  inconsist- 
ent, eh  ?"  She  raised  her  brows. 
1  Anna  swept  the  sheets  aside.  "  My  dear  Jeanne, 
who  is  ever  consistent  ?  Teh1  me,  you  are  glad  to 
see  me  ?" 

The  other  smiled  again.  "  You  know  I  never  say 
things  —  saying  is  so  bad  for  the  imagination."  But 
she  pressed  the  girl's  hand.  "  Make  your  explanations, 
Anna.  Three  weeks  ago,  in  Vienna,  you  told  me  to 


136  THE    CIRCLE 

expect  you  four  days  before  your  opening  night — 
not  an  hour  sooner/' 

"  I  know.  But  a  month  ago,  Jeanne.  Things 
happen  —  "  She  took  off  her  hat  and  threw  it  on 
the  bed. 

Her  companion  smiled  again,  a  slightly  ironical 
smile. 

"  Why  do  you  smile  ?"     Anna  turned  round. 

"  A  reminiscence.  You  are  very  much  —  and  very 
little  —  changed,  in  the  eight  years." 

Anna  threw  back  her  head  "  Don't  talk  of  that. 
Ask  me  why  I  came." 

"  I  have  asked."1 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  How  lovely  of  you  to  have  a  are  !  "  Anna  crossed 
the  room  and  knelt  on  the  white  rug.  "  I  've  been 
praying  for  an  English  spring  and  an  English  fire 
for  four  years."  She  bent  close  to  the  blaze  and  the 
flames  lit  up  her  face.  After  a  moment's  wait  she 
turned  round. 

"It  was  two  nights  ago  at  the  Archduchess's, 
Jeanne  ;  Elslen  had  been  singing  —  you  know  how 
her  singing  seems  to  tighten  round  one's  heart.  I 
was  standing  by  myself — thinking — making  im- 
possible dreams  —  "  She  laughed  a  little  and  picked 
up  the  bunch  of  violets  that  she  had  dropped  a 
second  before.  "  Old  Prince  Roxoff  came  to  me  — 
sometimes  he  has  a  very  gentle  manner  —  and  he  said 
quite  softly,  *  They  tell  me,  Mademoiselle,  that  you 
are  going  home/  In  themselves  the  words  were 


THE    CIRCLE  137 

nothing ;  but  they  fell  at  the  right  moment ;  they 
touched  something  here  — "  She  put  her  fingers  to 
her  throat.  "  I  suddenly  realised,  Jeanne,  how  hol- 
low it  all  was  —  this  trip  to  Russia  —  this  going 
home  —  a  country  I  did  n't  remember,  a  people  I 
did  n't  know.  It  all  came  in  an  instant  —  the 
necessity — the  void.  In  the  whole  crowd  about 
me,  each  person  had  a  place  to  turn  to  —  one  little 
-spot  to  call  his  own.  The  feeling  was  very  strong, 
Jeanne  ;  my  thoughts  flew  straight  back  here  — " 
She  stopped. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  came  to  her  and  laid  her  hand 
gently  on  her  arm.  "  You  were  quite  right,  Anna, 
quite  wise ;  your  home  is  with  me,  here  with 
me.""  She  paused  for  a  moment  to  stroke  the 
girl's  hand.  "Sometimes,  just  sometimes,  I  have 
feared  —  " 

Anna  put  up  her  hand. 

"  Not  to-day ! "  She  smelt  the  violets ;  then 
sprang  up.  "Jeanne,  I  won't  be  serious  on  my 
first  day.  Let's  gossip.  What  do  you  do  to- 
night?" 

"  To-night  ?     Oh,  I  am  « at  home '  to-night." 

Anna  clasped  her  hand*.  "  How  fine !  Will 
there  be  a  crowd  ?  I  thirst  to  meet  a  London  crowd ; 
to  hear  English  spoken  by  every  living  soul.  Oh, 
but  you  can't  quite  understand  !  "  Her  eyes  shone. 
"  May  I  ring  and  order  tea  ?  I  like  things  at  un- 
reasonable hours." 

"  Mv  dear  child,  how  thoughtless  of  me  !  "     Mrs. 


138  THE    CIRCLE 

Maxtead  crossed  the  room,  but  with  her  finger  on 
the  bell,  she  turned. 

"  Anna." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  'm  not  quite  certain  about  to-night." 

"  Oh,  Jeanne."     The  girl's  voice  fell. 

"  I  have  planned  your  first  appearance  in  London, 
your  first  introduction  to  London,  so  many  times. 
It  has  been  one  of  my  schemes.  It  was  to  be  brilliant 
—  in  every  sense." 

"  I  "m  tired  of  brilliance." 

"  I  am  not  tired  of  brilliance  for  you."  In  eight 
years  the  voice  had  lost  nothing  of  its  ring. 

Anna  frowned  ;  then  laughed.  "  Would  you  send 
me  to  bed,  like  a  naughty  child  ?  " 

"  Possibly."  Mrs.  Maxtead  was  speculative ;  then 
swiftly,  with  a  flash  of  energy,  she  moved  back  to  the 
centre  of  the  room.  "  My  dear  Anna,  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  What  are  you  dreaming  of?  You 
forget  that  the  very  hoardings  in  the  streets  talk  of 
your  coming.  You  will  be  a  nine  days1  wonder  when 
you  are  first  seen." 

Anna  arranged  her  violets.  "  I M  gladly  postpone 
the  nine  days'1  wonder.  But,  Jeanne,  I  do  want  to 
meet  your  guests ;  I  do  want  to  listen  to  the  crowd." 

"  My  dear  child  —  " 

Anna  moved  quickly  forward ;  there  was  colour  in 
her  face  and  her  eyes  gleamed.  "  Jeanne,"  she  said 
suddenly,  "  I  have  an  inspiration.  I  have  an  idea. 
You  say  yourself  that  I  am  unknown  here  —  that 


THE    CIRCLE  139 

I've  not  been  seen.  Let  me  enjoy  the  blessing? 
Let's  forget  engagements  and  triumphs  and  sensa- 
tions just  for  once— >  let  me  be  your  protegee  — 
'u:vt  your  protegee  returned  from  abroad?  The 
chances  are  twenty  to  one,  a  hundred  to  one, 
that  I  sha'n^t  be  recognised.  I  can  wear  a  white 
frock  and  a  string  of  pearls.  I  can  look  nineteen. 
Jeanne  — "" 

The  appeal  was  irresistible.  Mrs.  Maxtead^s  lips 
tightened,  then  relaxed  ;  at  last  she  laughed. 

"  And  the  great  Solny  —  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Will  give  her  understudy  a  chance.  I  take 
the  responsibility,  Jeanne.  1 11  sit  in  the  darkest 
corner,  and  be  the  least  attractive  woman  in  the 
room.11 

The  other  looked  at  her;  then  her  lips  fell  to 
their  old  satirical  curve.  "The  corner  will  have 
to  be  very  dark,"  she  said  dryly ;  and  re-crossing  the 
room,  she  pressed  the  bell. 


PART    TWO— CHAPTER    II 

A~TER    dinner,    Mrs.    Maxtead   rose    and 
slipped  her  arm  through  Anna's. 
"  Come   upstairs,"   she   said.      "  It  "s 
only  nine  ;  I  like  an  hour  in  my  own 
room  before  the  storm  bursts."" 

They  both  laughed  and  moved  across  the  room, 
then  crossing  the  hall,  slowly  ascended  the  stairs. 

In  the  bedroom  the  fire  had  been  replenished ; 
otherwise  the  room  was  dark.  Anna  crossed  to  the 
window  and  drew  the  curtains  back.  The  sky  was 
clear  and  studded  with  stars  ;  the  moon,  in  its  first 
quarter,  hung  above  the  opposite  trees  ;  against  the 
dark  roadway  the  cab  lamps  made  a  stream  of  flit- 
ting lights.  She  looked  in  silence  for  a  while  ;  then 
quite  abruptly  she  spoke. 

"  I  am  breaking  my  own  precepts,  Jeanne." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  holding  a  match  to  the  tall 
candles  on  the  dressing-table.  "  In  what  ?  "  she 
asked. 

**  I  wanted  to  be  shallow  to-night,  and  my  mind 
will  be  perverse,  and  think." 

"  Come  away  from  the  window,  then.  Tke  stars 
are  always  demoralising." 


THE    CIRCLE  14i 

"Which  makes  them  all  the  more  irresistible. 
What  were  you  going  to  *ay  to-day  when  I  stopped 
you?" 

"  Nothing  worth  remembering."  Mrs.  Maxtead 
studied  a  candle-flame. 

"  Ah  !"  Anna's  voice  dropped.  "  Ifs  the  things 
not  worth  remembering  that  come  out  and  haunt 
one  in  the  night.  Don't  you  find  it  so  ? " 

"  My  dear  child,  so  few  people  see  ghosts  since 
bromides  came  into  fashion.'1'1 

Anna  laughed  a  little.  ;'-  But,  Jeanne,  how  much 
we  change  !  Once  I  used  to  believe  in  facing  things ; 
now,  at  the  first  glimpse  of  an  unpleasantness,  I  shut 
my  eyes  and  turn  my  back.  Is  that  very  weak  ? "" 

"Ifs  very  foolish.  Look  an  enemy  in  the  face 
and  he  will  turn  tail." 

"That  sounds  so  easy  and  so  nice."  She  leant 
her  forehead  against  the  glass  and  looked  up  at  the 
sky.  "  Enemies  go,  but  facts  stick.  I  know  ;  I 
have  tried." 

"  Then  you  did  n't  look  straight  enough." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  figures  across  the  way 
glided  together,  passed  and  re-passed ;  the  cab  lights 
danced  by  ;  the  leaves  of  the  trees  stirred  in  the  faint 
wind. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  crossed  the  room  and  stood  by  the 
girl's  side.  In  the  glow  of  the  candles,  one  saw  the 
touch  of  grey  in  her  brown  hair,  the  faint  lines  about 
her  eyes  and  mouth  ;  but  in  the  shadow  of  the 
window,  only  her  hands,  untouched  by  time,  and 


142  THE    CIRCLE 

ier  slight  alert  figure  were  apparent  to  the  glance. 
She  stood  as  she  might  have  stood  eight  years  before ; 
when  she  spoke,  it  was  in  the  same  voice,  with  the 
same  precision,  the  same  inflexibly  assured  ring. 

"  Anna,"  she  said,  "you  think  I  don't  see  your 
thoughts.  I  am  looking  into  them  as  if  they  were  a 
pool  of  water  where  I  could  see  every  shred  of  moss 
and  every  tiny  stone.  This  is  a  difficult  moment  for 
you  ;  you  must  make  it  a  successful  one.  Take  this 
ghost  of  yours  and  kill  it  outright ;  make  an  end  of 
it,  once  for  all.  You  h^1  e  rolled  it  into  a  grave  and 
strewn  earth  over  it,  then  you  have  run  away  ;  and  all 
the  time  —  sleeping  and  waking,  resting  and  working 

—  you  have  the  thought  that  it 's  not  dead,  that  at 
any  moment  it  can  shake  off  the  earth  and  rise  —  " 

Anna  put  out  her  hand.  "  Stop,  Jeanne.  I  won't 
listen  ;  I  won't  hear." 

There  was  a  long  wait ;  then  she  turned  suddenly 
and  caught  the  other's  hand.  "  Jeanne,  what  a  fool 
I  am  !  I  'm  thirsting  to  hear  —  thirsting  to  speak 

—  and  you  know  I  am."     She  freed  her  hand  again, 
and  pushed  back  her  hair. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  silent. 

"When  you  took  me  away,  eight  years  ago, 
I  wrote  a  letter  every  day,  to  Johann  or  to  my 
father  —  letters  pages  long,  letters  of  explanation,  of 
affection,  of  homesickness,  and  I  stored  them  away, 
promising  myself  to  post  them  in  five  years'  time. 
The  posting  was  to  be  my  first  act  of  emancipation 

—  my  first  act ;  I  saw  myself  running  through  the 


THE    CIRCLE  143 

streets  with  the  bundle  in  my  hand  ;  I  saw  myself 
as  I  heard  it  drop  into  the  letter  box.  I  have  cried 
night  after  night,  Jeanne,  at  the  length  of  those  five 
debarred  years ;  I  have  waked  morning  after  morn- 
ing, with  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  that  another  day 
was  gone.11  She  turned  to  the  window.  "  But  that 
was  eight  years  ago  —  eight  whole  years  ago.  In 
the  second  year  I  wrote  my  letters  every  week  instead 
of  every  day  ;  in  the  third,  I  wrote  them  every  month 
—  and  not  always  every  month ;  in  the  fourth,  I 
ceased  to  write  at  all."  She  stopped. 

"  At  the  end  of  the  fifth  year  —  oh,  you  Knew  the 
world  very  well,  Jeanne;  you  had  calculated  very 
well  —  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  year,  on  the  day  of 
my  triumph  at  the  Conservatoire,  you  came  to  me 
and  reminded  me  that  our  old  bargain  was  ended 
and  our  new  bargain  was  to  begin, —  that  I  was  a 
woman,  free  to  do  what  I  liked  with  my  own  life. 
You  were  quite  frank,  quite  generous  —  I  think  you 
guessed  how  safe  the  generosity  was.  And  I  —  what 
did  I  do?  Where  were  my  resolutions  and  my 
promises  to  myself  ?  With  my  ambition  on  fire  and 
my  conceit  running  riot,  I  went  to  my  own  room, 
locked  the  door,  and  burnt  the  letters  one  by 
one.  You  never  knew  how  well  you  scored  —  you 
and  the  world !  "  She  laughed  with  a  catch  in  her 
voice. 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  glance  was  fixed  on  the  sky  with 
its  light  of  misted  stars.  Presently  she  lowered  her 
lids.  "  And  now  —  ?  "  she  said. 


144  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Now  ? ""  Anna  lifted  her  head.  "  There  's  no 
*  now?  Jeanne  —  for  that.  I  have  learnt  the  lesson 
very  well ;  something  seems  dead  here  — '""  She 
touched  her  heart.  "  Sometimes  I  think 't  will  never 
wake  up  again.  The  time  is  gone  when  I  could 
say  '  I  hate  you  !  I  hate  you  ! '  as  I  once  said.  I 
have  grown  blunt ;  I  see  through  you  now,  Jeanne ; 
I  understand  you  ;  but  I  can't  say  '  I  hate  you  ! '  any 
more.  You  are  a  part  of  the  world,  and  I  Ve  grown 
to  like  the  world  —  its  good  things  —  its  ease  and 
its  success.  When  the  old  days  come  back,  I  shut 
my  eyes  ;  I  can't  look  them  in  the  face  and  deny 
them,  as  you  would  do  ;  I  can't  look  them  in  the 
face  and  acknowledge  them  ;  so  I  take  the  middle 
course,  I  shut  my  eyes.  Jeanne  — ""  She  looked 
suddenly  into  the  other's  face.  "Jeanne,  let  me 
keep  my  eyes  shut  —  ?  "  She  raised  her  hand  again 
with  the  old  childish  gesture,  and  pushed  back  her 
hair ;  then  she  shivered  slightly  and  turned  to  the 
window. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  softly  into  the  room  and 
set  a  light  to  the  groups  of  candles  hanging  from 
the  wall.  Then  she  walked  back  to  Anna  and 
touched  her  arm. 

The  girl  started,  wheeled  about,  then  laughed 
nervously. 

"  Oh,  the  lights !  What  a  charm  against  bad 
thoughts  !  You  are  very  —  comprehending,  Jeanne." 
She  laughed  again  unevenly ;  and  Mrs.  Maxtead 
drew  the  curtains  across  the  window. 


THE    CIRCLE  145 

Anna  walked  to  the  fireplace,  then  to  the  dressing- 
table.  "  Look  ! "  she  said.  "  I  \e  tangled  my  pearls. 
Help  me  to  get  them  right  ?  " 

The  other  came  forward,  and  they  stood  together 
in  the  circle  of  light.  In  a  moment  her  fingers  had 
unloosed  the  knot;  then  she  raised  her  head  and 
caught  their  reflections  side  by  side  in  the  glass. 
Her  own  figure  in  its  black  dress,  her  own  face  with 
its  tiny,  inexorable  lines,  her  hair  coiled  to  show 
almost  ostentatiously  the  light  patch  of  grey  ;  and 
the  girlish  figure  half  a  head  taller  than  her  own, 
the  slim  neck,  the  straight  white  dress,  perfect  in  its 
simple  lines.  With  great  deliberation  she  raised 
her  eyes  inch  by  inch,  till,  with  a  little  shock,  their 
glances  met  in  the  glass. 

Anna  stirred.  The  other  laughed  sharply  and 
turned  away. 

"  I  must  rush  !  I  believe  I  hear  the  first  carriage. 
Wait  here,  Anna,  for  the  present ;  in  half  an  hour, 
when  the  crowd  begins  to  thicken,  slip  downstairs  ; 
I  '11  save  somebody  nice  for  you  till  then.""  She 
laughed  again  and  moved  to  the  door ;  with  her 
fingers  on  the  handle  she  turned  back. 

"There's  a  better  charm  against  bad  thoughts 
than  light,  Anna." 

Anna  raised  her  head.     "  What 's  that  ?  " 

"  Youth."  With  a  swish  of  her  skirts,  Mrs. 
Maxtead  shut  the  door. 


10 


PART  TWO— CHAPTER  III 

FOR  long  after  her  hostess  left  her,  Anna 
stood  by  the  dressing- table.     From  down- 
stairs a  faint  murmur  reached  her  —  the 
jingling  echo  of  trafic  borne  through  the 
open  door  into  the  hall,  the  hum  of  laughter  and 
voices,  the  pulsation  and  rustle  and  movement  that 
denotes  arriving  guests.     She  heard  it  mechanically, 
as  one  hears  the  roar  of  a  storm  while  absorbed  in 
the  reading  of  a  book  ;  then,  as  when  a  wilder  gust 
of  wind  shakes  the  house,  one  sometimes  shuts  the 
book,  she  broke  the  thread  of  her  musings  and  raised 
her  head,  attracted  by  a  fresh  sound.     The  swing  of 
music,  low  but  unmistakable,  came  across  the  room. 

She  stood  upright  and  her  face  brightened ;  it  was 
a  gay,  inconsequent  tune,  a  waltz  she  had  danced  to 
countless  times.  It  roused  her,  stirred  her ;  uncon- 
sciously she  walked  to  the  door  and  opened  it  a  little 
way  ;  the  rush  t)f  existence  became  audible  again, 
running  below  the  music  in  faint  accompaniment 
Cautiously  she  stepped  across  the  corridor  and  looked 
over  the  stairs. 

The  scene  was  bright.  Against  the  dark  carpeting, 
the  glimmer  of  jewels  and  the  soft  tones  of  women's 
dresses  made  a  glow  and  patch  of  colour;  from 
between  the  palms  of  the  inner  hall  the  waltz  floated 


THE    CIRCLE  147 

up  inspiritingly ;  she  caught  the  light  scrape  of  the 
violins,  the  deeper  throb  of  the  'cello.  With  a 
sudden  impulse  she  turned  again  and  passed  back 
into  the  room. 

Crossing  to  the  dressing-table,  she  stood  before 
the  glass  and  studied  her  reflection  while  a  minute 
passed ;  with  subdued  excitement  she  caught  up  two 
candlesticks  and  raised  them  till  the  light  fell  full 
upon  her  face ;  then,  silently  replacing  them,  she 
picked  up  her  gloves,  and  hummed  the  tune  of  the 
waltz  as  she  drew  them  on.  A  second  later  she  left 
the  room,  descended  by  a  side  staircase,  and  stood  in 
momentary  hesitation  by  the  door  of  the  reception- 
room, 

The  reception-room  was  the  largest  in  the  house, 
and,  to  Anna,  the  least  familiar.  In  former  days  its 
polished  floor,  its  panels  and  gilding,  its  furniture  of 
Louis  XVI.,  had  each  in  turn  been  a  source  of  awe. 
She  smiled  a  little  now,  as  she  remembered  how 
large  they  once  had  loomed  ;  then  a  glimpse  of  her 
hostess's  black  dress  caught  her  eye,  and  she  crossed 
the  room. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  standing  in  a  quiet  corner  ;  a 
tall  screen  served  the  double  purpose  of  a  back- 
ground and  a  partial  shield.  As  Anna  approached, 
she  was  leaning  back  against  it,  her  eyes  lowered,  her 
fan  swaying  gently,  as  she  talked  to  her  companion, 
a  young  man  with  a  straight,  slight  figure  and  an 
attentive  pose  of  the  head.  She  looked  round  with 
a  smile  as  the  girl  reached  her. 


148  THE    CIRCLE 

"  You  've  chosen  a  good  moment,"  she  said.  "  I  "m 
taking  temporary  shelter.  The  hurricane  was  pretty 
bad."  She  laughed  ;  then  her  gaze  narrowed  to  the 
girl's  face.  "  But  what  have  you  been  doing  ?  Your 
eyes  look  like  big  stars." 

Anna  laughed  and  blushed.  "  I  have  been  study- 
ing charms  as  propounded  by  you  —  "  She  caught 
the  stranger's  eye  and  stopped. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laid  her  fingers  on  her  arm.  "  Anna, 
I  've  always  wanted  you  to  know  Mr.  Strode.  May 
I  introduce  him  now  ?  " 

Anna  smiled  and  the  stranger  bowed.  There  was 
courteous  deference  in  his  bearing,  vitality  and 
strength  in  the  clearness  of  his  eyes  and  the  healthy 
tan  of  his  skin.  She  was  noting  each  item  when 
Mrs.  Maxtead  spoke  again. 

"  Mr.  Strode  is  favoured  by  Fate,"  she  said.  "  He 
is  delightful  by  nationality.  Half  his  life  has  been 
spent  in  Canada,  half  in  Cornwall ;  he  can  express 
an  Englishman's  sincerity  with  an  American's  charm." 

Anna  smiled  again,  and  Strode  laughed. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  Mrs.  Maxtead 's 
rather  like  a  lightning  flash.  She  drops  into  dingy 
corners,  then  imagines  they  were  never  dark."  His 
voice  was  easy  and  assured,  his  manner  had  a  faint 
deliberation,  his  eyes  an  attentive  way  of  resting  on 
his  listener's  face  that  marked  him  from  other  men. 

Involuntarily  Anna  returned  his  glance.  "  Jeanne 
has  the  secret  of  popularity,"  she  said  ;  "  she  sees 
people  as  they  would  be  seen." 


THE    CIRCLE  149 

"  Which  implies  —  ?  "  His  lips  took  a  humorous 
turn. 

Before  she  could  answer,  Mrs.  Maxtead  bent  for- 
ward and  touched  her  arm.  "  My  dear,  good  people, 
you  must  find  your  implications  for  yourselves.  I 
see  a  new  arrival."  She  swept  away  from  them,  then 
turned  with  a  characteristic  smile.  "  Popularity  is 
an  invalid  that  requires  a  good  deal  of  nursing, 
Anna,""  she  said,  with  a  little  nod. 

Strode  laughed  as  she  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 
"  A  brilliant  woman  is  rather  wonderful,"  he  said 
slowly,  "  but  I  don't  think  that  I  'd  care  to  marry 
one.  T  would  be  like  living  in  a  conservatory  —  the 
temperature  always  abnormal  and  always  artificial ; 
one  would  grow  afraid  to  open  the  door." 

Anna  looked  across  the  screen  to  the  gay  groups 
beyond.  Her  lips  were  parted,  her  eyes  shone  ;  she 
felt  an  exhilaration  in  this  stranger's  presence,  —  hi.s 
youth,  his  health,  his  quiet  assurance,  all  affected 
her.  He  typified  a  new  civilisation  —  he  was  the 
product  of  a  newer  world,  where  the  worn-out  and 
the  incapable  move  to  the  wall ;  where  the  race,  and 
the  prize  of  the  race,  are  to  the  few  and  the  strong. 
She  turned  to  him,  unconsciously  speaking  herthought. 

"  I  fancy  you  would  open  any  door,"  she  said 
quickly ;  "  I  don't  picture  you  trembling  on  the 
inner  side." 

He  smiled.  "  That 's  very  charming  of  you  ;  but 
I  don't  quite  know  that  I  deserve  it  all.  It 's 
difficult  to  measure  oneself,  don't  you  think  ?  " 


150  THE    CIRCLE 

She  looked  again  across  the  room. 

**  I  hardly  know ;  at  best  of  times,  it 's  an  un- 
pleasant process  —  one  generally  finds  oneself  so 
very  small.  But  let  us  talk  of  something  else." 
She  turned  once  more  and  met  his  eyes,  and  the  con- 
tact gave  her  an  unlooked-for  thrill.  "  Have  you 
known  Jeanne  for  long  ?  Are  you  one  of  the  set  ?  " 
She  indicated  the  groups  with  a  movement  of  her 
fan. 

He  laughed.  "  Oh,  absolutely  not.  I  'm  an 
outsider  —  an  off-season  friend.  When  Mrs.  Max- 
tead  comes  to  Trescar,  she  takes  compassion  upon 
me.  We  are  neighbours  there,  you  know.  From  the 
tower  of  my  house  I  can  see  the  woodbine  climbing 
round  her  chimney-stacks.  We  introduced  ourselves 
on  the  strength  of  that  woodbine."  He  laughed 
again. 

"  But  I  thought  Jeanne  said  Canada  ?  ~"  She 
raised  her  eyes. 

"She  said  Cornwall  as  well.""  He  smiled.  "I 
lived  at  Trescar  till  I  was  fifteen  years  old ;  then  my 
father  died,  and  my  uncle  in  Canada  thought  that 
trade  in  a  new  country  was  better  for  me  than  tra- 
dition in  an  old,  and  I  was  shipped  to  America 
much  against  my  will.  I  was  twenty-one  before 
I  saw  home  again.  You  can  guess  I  counted  the 
years." 

Anna  looked  down  critically  at  her  gloves.  "  You 
returned  when  you  came  of  age  ?  " 

"  I  sailed  on  my  birthday. "     He  laughed.     "  I  'm 


THE    CIRCLE  151 

afraid  I  rather  stick  at  things ;  no  place  will  ever  be 
quite  Cornwall  to  me  ;  I  look  to  returning  perma- 
nently one  day,  —  when  my  pile  is  made."  He 
laughed  once  more. 

"  And  in  the  mean  time  ?  "  Anna  smoothed  her 
gloves. 

"  Oh,  in  the  mean  time,  I  grind  hard  at  copper- 
mining,  and  when  trade  and  my  uncle  can  spare  me, 
I  run  across.  But  why  do  you  never  come  to 
Trescar  ?  Don't  you  like  the  sea  ?  " 

She  looked  up  quickly.  "  I  loved  the  sea  before 
I  ever  saw  it ;  now  it  is  a  sort  of  fetish  to  me.  But 
I've  never  seen  Trescar  —  or  Jeanne's  White  Cot- 
tage. Like  you,  I  Ve  been  out  of  England  for  many 
years."" 

"Studying?" 

"  Studying.""  She  smoothed  her  glove  again  ;  then 
again  she  looked  up.  "  Yes  ;  also  like  you,  I  want 
to  make  my  fortune  some  day  —  some  distant  day. 
For  the  present  I  'm  content  to  hear  other  people 
talk  of  theirs.11 

There  was  a  pause ;  scraps  of  conversation  floated 
to  them,  the  sound  of  passing  skirts  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  screen,  the  sway  of  the  music  from  the 
hall  outside.  Strode  moved  nearer  to  her  by  a 
step. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  come  to  Cornwall,"  he  said  impul- 
sively. "  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  feel  we  'd  grow  to 
know  each  other  there.  There's  something  about 
the  sea  that  levels  things  —  prejudice  and  formality 


152  THE    CIRCLE 

and  things."  He  stopped  and  smoothed  his  fault- 
lessly smooth  hair.  His  speech  had  the  slight  man- 
nerism, his  voice  the  deliberate  intonation  that 
in  the  new  country  the  Englishman  endeavours 
lo  acquire  and  the  American  does  his  best  to 
discard. 

Anna  looked  at  him.  "  That  "s  very  true,"  she 
said.  *'  I  \re  often  thought  it,  but  I  Ve  never  put 
it  in  quite  that  way.  The  sea  has  a  wonderful 
power." 

"  Yes.  Like  some  people,  it  takes  one  out  of  one- 
self. Do  you  know  that  we  Ve  been  standing  here 
for  half  an  hour  ?  " 

She  glanced  round  and  coloured.  "  No ;  when 
one  is  interested  I  suppose  one  forgets."  Her  eyes 
were  very  bright. 

"  Precisely.  Would  I  be  trespassing  if  I  asked 
you  to  come  and  find  a  seat  —  somewhere  outside 
the  crowd  ?  Be  quite  candid  in  your  answer ;  I  come 
from  a  country  where  people  mostly  say  exactly  what 
they  mean."  He  paused,  waiting  for  her  reply,  and 
it  struck  her  that  no  man  had  ever  looked  her  so 
honestly  in  the  eyes.  A  wave  of  life,  of  exhilaration, 
of  youth  swept  across  her ;  she  returned  his  glance 
with  a  smile. 

"  Jeanne  says  that  candour  is  worse  than  crime," 
she  said.  "  Whose  dogma  shall  I  follow  ?  Hers  or 
yours  ?  "  Her  eyes  gleamed. 

Involuntarily  Strode  came  nearer  still.  "  Do 
neither.  Let  me  answer  for  you." 


THE    CIRCLE  153 

The  room  was  brilliantly  lighted ;  against  the 
darkness  of  the  screen  his  face  showed  up  refined  and 
reliant.  Anna  opened  and  shut  her  fan. 

"  And  what  would  the  answer  be  ?  "  She  laughed 
a  little,  but  unconsciously  her  voice  dropped. 

He  laughed  as  well ;  then  bowed  gravely. 
«'T  would  be  just  this  — ""  He  offered  her  his 
arm. 


PART    TWO  — CHAPTER   IV 

MRS.  MAXTEAD  sat  before  her  bed- 
room fire.  It  was  well  past  two  o'clock, 
but  as  yet  her  only  attempt  at  retiring 
for  the  night  had  consisted  of  drawing 
off  all  her  rings  and  making  them  into  a  little  heap. 
A  cup  of  black  coffee  stood  on  a  table  by  her  side, 
and  against  the  saucer  rested  a  half-burnt  cigarette. 

On  her  face  was  an  expression  of  expectation  — an 
expectation  that  settled  into  quiet  certainty  when 
the  handle  of  her  door  was  softly  turned  and  some- 
one came  into  the  room.  She  made  no  attempt  to 
raise  her  head  or  to  look  behind ;  but  with  a  faint 
movement  that  was  satisfaction  and  decision  in  one, 
she  let  the  rings  slip  to  her  lap  and  brought  her 
finger-tips  together. 

Anna  came  silently  across  the  room.  She  was 
wrapped  in  a  Chinese  robe  with  a  fantastic  pattern 
in  gold,  and  wore  slippers  of  Oriental  make.  She 
crossed  the  room  and  laid  her  hands  on  Mrs.  Max- 
tead's  shoulders ;  then  her  eyes  fell  on  the  coffee-cup 
and  she  smiled. 

"  Coffee  and  cigarettes  at  two  in  the  morning ! 
How  many  women  would  be  sipping  hot  water  and 
preparing  for  a  day  in  bed ! " 


THE   CIRCLE  155 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laughed  her  satirical  laugh.  "  Days 
in  bed  make  me  realise  the  grave."  She  gave  a  little 
shiver.  "As  for  hot  water  —  I  never  could  tolerate 
it  outside  my  bath."  She  lifted  the  coffee-cup  to  her 
li-ps,  and  laying  it  down,  picked  up  the  cigarette  and 
tossed  it  into  the  fire. 

"But  I've  come  to  a  conclusion  concerning  you, 
Anna.  Sit  on  the  ground  and  lean  against  my  knees." 

Anna  gathered  her  wrapper  about  her  and  obeyed. 
To  sit  on  the  ground  before  a  fire  and  gaze  into  the 
blaze  charmed  her  now  as  much  as  it  had  ever  done. 
It  was  her  most  confidential,  her  most  familiar,  pose, 
and  long  ago  Mrs.  Maxtead  had  gauged  its  worth. 

For  a  moment  they  both  followed  the  play  of  the 
firelight  on  the  dark  blue  and  gold  of  the  girl's  robe ; 
then  the  silence  fell  away. 

"  Your  conclusion,  Jeanne  ?     I  am  curious." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  made  a  tower  of  her  rings,  then 
tossed  it  down  again.  "  To-night  passed,"  she  said, 
"  but  it  can't  be  repeated.  You  're  too  conspicu- 
ous —  no,  that 's  a  hateful  word :  you  're  too  original 
for  London,  Anna.  The  dark  corners-  are  too  few." 

"  Jeanne,  how  inhospitable  —  how  veiy  horrid  of 
you  !  "  Anna  raised  her  eyes. 

"  How  considerate  of  me  ! "  She  touched  the 
girl's  cheek.  "  My  dear  child,  something  must  be 
arranged  In  three  days  people  will  be  talking  ;  in  a 
week  you  will  be  recognised  in  a  whispering,  half- 
hearted way,  and  the  big  splash  that  I  have  promised 
myself  will  degenerate  into  a  little  ring  of  bubbles. 


156  THE    CIRCLE 

I  can't  have  that,  you  know.     I  can't  have  it !  "    She 
straightened  herself. 

A  moment  followed  in  which  the  words  died  away ; 
then,  half  humorously  and  half  seriously,  Anna  set 
her  lips. 

"  I  won't  leave  England,  Jeanne  ;  it 's  no  use." 

A  faint  amused  gleam  crossed  the  other's  eyes. 
"  England  —  or  London  ?  "  .she  asked  below  her 
breath. 

Anna  hesitated ;  then  unaccountably  blushed. 
"England  — I  think." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  leant  back  in  her  chair ;  she  seemed 
to  make  deductions  and  calculations  that  were  not 
unpleasant  to  her  mind  ;  when  at  last  she  half  raised 
her  lids  and  spoke  again,  her  voice  had  its  old  silky 
tone. 

"  You  've  heard  me  speak  of  Trescar,  Anna  ?  " 

The  girl  moved  slightly.  Her  fingers  carefully 
outlined  a  gold  dragon  that  stretched  across  her 
robe. 

Her  companion  almost  smiled. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  Cornwall  as  a  place  of 
interest  ?  Of  course  the  sea  there  is  n't  like  the  sea 
at  Naples,  but  still  —  She  let  her  voice  drop. 

Anna  bent  over  her  task  ;  she  was  absorbed  in  the 
curves  of  the  dragon's  tail. 

"  There  is  a  great  slope  of  rock  at  Trescar  and  a 
stretch  of  heather,  and  rather  a  picturesque  view. 
I  forget  whether  you  like  views."" 

With  a   twist   of  the   wrist  Anna  finished  trac- 


THE    CIRCLE  157 

ing  the  tail;  then,  smiling  irresistibly,  she  turned 
round. 

"Jeanne,  what  are  you  driving  at?  "" 

For  a  space  Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  at  the  fire  in 
silence ;  then,  against  her  will,  she  responded  to 
the  smile. 

'*  My  dear  Anna,  it  is  not  artistic  to  be  so  abrupt. 
I  'm  driving  at  a  proposition ;  I  'm  trying  to  make 
concessions."  She  paused  a  little ;  then  leant  for- 
ward, speaking  fast.  "If  I  cancel  all  my  engage- 
ments for  three  weeks,  will  you  come  with  me  to 
Cornwall  to-morrow  ?  Stay  with  me  there  as  long 
as  I  like,  put  everything  into  my  hands  to  man- 
age as  I  think  best  ?  " 

"  Which  means  a  little  quiet,  and  eventually,  the 
splash  ? ""  Anna  made  a  slight  grimace. 

"  Precisely." 

They  both  laughed  ;  then  the  girl  put  up  her  hand. 
"  Spatter  the  whole  town  if  you  like,  Jeanne  ;  I  don't 
mind."  For  a  second  their  fingers  touched,  and  there 
was  something  of  understanding,  something  of  sym- 
pathy in  the  silent  pressure  ;  then,  gathering  her  rings 
into  a  little  heap,  Mrs.  Maxtead  slowly  rose. 

She  leant  against  the  mantel-shelf  and  stood  look- 
ing down.  "  Has  Prince  Roxoff  asked  you  to  marry 
him  since  that  night  at  the  Opera  ?  " 

"  Twice  since  that  night.""  Anna  looked  intently 
into  the  fire.  "  Do  you  call  me  a  fool,  Jeanne  ?  A 
man  of  seventy-four,  with  provinces  in  three  coun- 
tries.1" She  laughed  a  little  ironically. 


158  THE    CIRCLE 

Mrs.  Maxtead  picked  up  a  polishing-pad  and  began 
to  rub  her  nails. 

"  A  man  with  three  provinces  is  apt  to  have 
superfluous  possessions,""  she  said  dryly.  "  No.  I  'm 
inclined  to  call  you  wise.  The  right  man,  Anna, 
will  have  a  good  deal  more  than  three  provinces 
—  and  a  good  deal  less,  it  seems  to  me.11  Her 
bright  eyes  scanned  the  girl's  face.  "  Now  run 
along  to  bed.  To-morrow  morning  we'll  talk  busi- 
ness in  the  study ;  to-morrow  evening  at  Trescar 
we'll  begin  to  forget  that  business  exists.  Good- 
night !  "  She  bent  lightly  and  kissed  the  girl's  cheek. 

Anna  rose.  For  a  space  she  stood  stroking  a  fold  of 
her  robe ;  then  she  looked  up.  "  I  came  to  say  a  lot 
of  things,  Jeanne ;  now  they  somehow  won't  get  said." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  intent  upon  her  nails.  "  Some- 
how I  think  I  understand."1  Her  voice  had  a  quizzical 
turn. 

Anna  smiled  and  moved  towards  the  door ;  half- 
way across  the  room  she  stopped. 

"  Jeanne." 

"Yes." 

"  Mr.  Strode  will  be  at  Trescar." 

After  the  words  came  a  little  pause ;  then  with  a 
delightful  assumption  of  vagueness,  Mrs.  Maxtead 
raised  her  head. 

"  Maurice  ? "  She  hesitated.  "  Oh,  of  course, 
Maurice  Strode." 

Anna  blushed.  "Yes;  the  American;  the  man 
who  was  here  to-night.  I  only  wanted  to  say  that 


THE    CIRCLE  159 

he  has  got  the  ridiculous  idea  into  his  head  that 
I  am  a  relation  —  a  cousin,  or  something,  of  yours.1' 

Mrs.  Maxtead  returned  to  the  polishing  of  her 
nails.  "  We  can  easily  undeceive  him  on  that  score, 
if  that  is  all." 

"  Of  course.""  Anna's  voice  was  not  enthusiastic. 
She  took  a  few  steps  forward,  then  paused  afresh. 

"  Jeanne." 

"  Yes." 

"It's  rather  nice  to  be  talked  to — to  be  liked, 
you  know,  just  for  oneself." 

"  So  I  have  alwa3-s  found.1* 

"  You  are  exasperating  !  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laughed  very  softly.  Anna  took 
two  steps  onward,  then  paused  for  a  third  time. 

"  Jeanne." 

"Well?" 

"Would  it  be  very  wrong  —  would  it  matter 
much  —  if  I  stayed  your  cousin  for  the  three 
weeks  ? "  Her  eyes  were  bright  as  they  had  been 
when  she  stood  behind  the  screen;  there  was  a 
new  quick  excitement  in  her  voice. 

Her  companion  noted  both,  though  her  head  was 
bent.  When  she  raised  her  eyes,  there  was  unmis- 
takable laughter  in  their  depths. 

"  That  depends  on  Maurice  Strode's  sense  of  right 
ar  d  wrong,"  she  said  dryly,  "  not  upon  mine.  But 
*  *are  say  we  can  work  it,  if  you  really  like." 


PART     TWO— CHAPTER     * 

MRS.  MAXTEAD  leant  back  against  a 
comfortably   curved  rock  and  shifted 
her  white  parasol  till  its  shadow  fell 
across  her  book ;  for  ten  minutes  she 
read  on  without  raising  her  head. 

The  corner  was  unique :  on  either  hand  rose  rocks 
of  varied  shape,  lichened  to  rust-colour  and  black 
and  grey ;  behind,  the  cliff  loomed  up,  a  guarding 
wall  of  gorse  and  bracken,  crossed  by  a  thread-like 
path  ;  and  straight  in  front,  immense,  superb,  illimit- 
able, stretched  the  sea  and  sky  —  the  one  a  haze  of 
mauve,  the  other  a  sweep  of  blue,  the  two  blended 
and  toned  and  merged  in  a  mist  of  light  bronze; 
while  above  all,  fulfilment  of  the  morning's  promise, 
surety  for  the  coining  night,  hovered  the  stillness, 
the  breathlessness  that  belongs  so  absolutely  and  so 
exquisitely  to  one  hour  in  the  twenty-four. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Maxtead  shut  her  book.  "  What 
a  glare  !  "  she  said.  "  With  a  little  imagination,  one 
might  conjure  Egypt.  Sixpence  for  your  thoughts, 
Anna  !  * 

Anna  s-tirred  luxuriously.  She  lay  at  full  length 
on  the  strip  of  grass  that  the  nook  afforded  ;  her  hat 
M-a*  off.  her  hands  clapped  behind  her  head  ;  her  eyes, 


THE    CIRCLE  161 

wide  open  in  deep  enjoyment,  seemed  to  reflect  the 
beauty  of  both  sea  and  sky.  "I'm  not  thinking, 
Jeanne,  I  'm  realising."  She  unclasped  her  hands 
and  clasped  them  again,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
the  act. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  towards  the  horizon  with 
amused  eyes.  "Women  should  never  realise.'1 

Anna  smiled.  "  Women  should  never  moralise  — 
at  the  sea.  If  one  has  a  good  hour,  why  should  n't 
one  appreciate  it  ?  I  don't  like  to  put  my  finger  on 
a  thing  and  say,  '  This  will  be  mine  to-morrow,'  or 
*  This  was  mine  yesterday ; '  I  like  to  catch  it  quite 
tight  and  say, 'This  is  mine  now  —  to-da).'" 

"  You  tempt  Fate  when  you  say  that." 

"  Pessimist !  "  She  laughed  ;  then  in  a  moment  her 
manner  changed  and  she  turned  round.  "  Jeanne," 
she  said,  "  I  've  suddenly  realised  how  much  I  owe  to 
you.  First  you  taught  me  how  to  walk  through  the 
world  without  cutting  my  feet  or  losing  my  way; 
and  now,  when  my  feet  begin  to  sound  just  ever  so 
little  hollow  to  my  own  ears,  you  whisk  me  away, 
draw  back  the  big  dividing  curtain,  and  give  me  a 
glimpse  into  heaven  —  all  rest  and  sea  and  sun,  with 
no  parts,  no  popularity,  no  people  to  get  in  one's 
way  and  breathe  up  one's  air." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  down  at  her  book ;  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  were  ever  so  slightly  raised. 
"No  people,  Anna  —  ?  " 

The  girl  coloured.  "  How  horribly  literal  you 
are !  People,  of  course  —  in  their  proper  places." 

11 


162  THE    CIRCLE 

Mrs.  Maxtead  shut  her  parasol  with  a  good  deal 
of  elaboration.  "I  should  rather  like  to  under- 
stand," she  said. 

"  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean.  The  village 
people  in  the  dear  little  straggling  village ;  the  fish- 
ermen mending  their  nets  and  tarring  their  boats ; 
old  Treherne  up  at  the  Cottage  trying  to  find  weeds 
in  the  flower-beds  on  the  lawn  —  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  suddenly  raised  her  head. 

" —  And  Maurice  Strode  everywhere,"  she  said. 
"I  imagine  I  understand.1' 

Anna  sat  straight  up.  "  That 's  the  first  tactless 
thing  I  Ve  known  you  to  say,  Jeanne." 

The  other  smiled  with  serene  good-humour.  "  It 
is  hard  to  be  truthful  and  tactful  both." 

Anna  took  her  chin  in  her  hand,  and  gazed  be- 
fore her  at  the  sea.  "  It  has  n't  even  the  excuse  of 
truth." 

"No?" 

"No." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  narrowed  her  eyes  in  calculation. 
"  We  came  here  in  the  middle  of  April,"  she  said, 
"  and  it  is  now  the  beginning  of  May.  I  may  be 
wrong,  but  I  cannot  recall  three  consecutive  hours  of 
any  day  in  which  we  have  not  seen  Maurice  Strode. 
Of  course  I  may  be  wrong  —  " 

Anna  watched  the  sea  deepen  from  azure  to  steel, 
and  as  she  watched,  a  change  passed  across  her  face, 
her  expressions  wavered  and  moved  like  clouds  before 
the  wind ;  the  frown  between  her  eyebrows  smoothed 


THE    CIRCLE  163 

itself  away ;  the  flush  on  her  cheeks  paled  a  little ; 
at  last  she  smiled. 

"  Jeanne,"  she  said,  turning  with  a  sudden  impulse, 
"  why  is  it  that  one  can  never  be  really  angry  with 
you?" 

Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  her  parasol  as  she  might 
have  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "One  does  n't  lose 
one's  temper  with  a  gnat  because  it  stings.  But  you 
are  slipping  past  the  point,  and  the  point  interests 
me.  When  two  women  accept  a  man  when  he  is 
present,  and  combine  to  ignore  him  when  he  is 
absent,  it  means  that  one  of  the  two  takes  him 
seriously.  Now  I  haven't  taken  a  man  seriously 
for  thirteen  years.  What  am  I  to  conclude?" 

"  That  all  theories  are  fallible.'"  Anna  laughed 
hastily  and  covered  her  cheek  with  her  hand. 

There  was  a  silence,  in  which  the  girl  sat  preter- 
naturally  still,  while  her  companion  plucked  three 
grasses  and  began  to  plait  them  with  distracting 
care. 

"Talking  of  theories,""  she  said  at  length,  "I 
wonder  how  Maurice  will  take  his  enlightening?" 

"His  enlightening  —  ?"     Anna  turned  round. 

"The  sorting  of  his  ideas,  if  you  like  it  better. 
I  wonder  how  my  little  cousin  with  her  simple 
manners  and  her  linen  frocks  will  expand  into 
Solny,  who  has  set  the  fashion  in  shoes  and  scent 
for  three  Parisian  seasons  —  whose  cast-off  flowers 
are  worth  five  times  their  weight  in  gold  —  whose 
hats  three  painters  have  made  famous  —  ? "  She 


164  THE    CIRCLE 

paused  between  every  phrase,  arranging  her  blades 
of  grass. 

A  wave  of  colour  spread  across  Anna's  face.  "  I 
think  Mr.  Strode  will  understand;  he  is  a  gentleman." 

The  other  laughed.  "  Man  is  an  older  word  than 
gentleman,  Anna ;  and  man  is  a  conservative  animal." 
She  stopped. 

Anna  rose  and  leant  against  the  rock  ;  the  sun 
had  fallen  palpably ;  the  first  faint  shadow  of  the 
evening  crept  across  the  cliff  with  a  little  chill.  She 
shivered,  then  laughed,  but  some  of  the  spontane- 
ity was  lacking  in  the  laugh.  "  We  are  changing 
places,"  she  said.  "  You  are  getting  sentimental  and 
I  serious ;  it  s  time  we  were  getting  home." 

"  We  dine  with  Maurice  to-night." 

"  I  know."  She  picked  up  her  hat.  "  How  per- 
sistent you  are,  Jeanne  !  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  unloosed  her  grasses  and  began 
plaiting  them  again.  "  Persistence  is  a  jewel,"  she 
said,  "  if  one  learns  how  to  polish  it.  In  looking  at 
Maurice^s  face,  what  strikes  you  most  ?  " 

"  Nothing."     Anna  arranged  her  hat. 

" Anna ! " 

"Oh,  well  —  his  eyes;  the  horribly  steady  look 
about  his  eyes."  She  spoke  with  a  little  rush. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  nodded  once  or  twice  as  she 
completed  her  task.  "  Anna,"  she  said  tentatively, 
"  have  you  ever  noticed  that  men  with  those  eyes  — 
those  horribly  steady  eyes  —  can  be  somewhat  hard 
to  handle  —  a  little  restive  on  occasion  ?" 


THE    CIRCLE  165 

Anna's  lips  took  on  an  obdurate  curve.  "  Perhaps 
I  'm  dense,  Jeanne  ;  I  confess  I  don't  understand." 
She  straightened  her  shoulders  and  lifted  her  head. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  smiled  very  gently  to  herself  and 
rose.  One  by  one,  she  collected  her  cushions,  then 
she  rolled  her  parasol  and  began  her  ascent  of  the 
cliff;  a  yard  or  two  up  the  narrow  path  she  paused. 

"Aren't  you  coming?"  she  said.  "There  are 
honey  cakes  for  tea." 

Anna  turned.  "  Jeanne,11  she  said  below  her 
breath. 

The  other  balanced  herself  neatly,  and  looked 
down  with  a  cheerful  smile. 


Their  eyes  met  arid  there  was  a  pause  •,  then  Ann* 
blushed. 

"  Jeanne,  you  have  been  very  painstaking  —  and  I 
have  been  very  detestable.  Let  me  carry  your  rug  ?" 


PART   TWO—  CHAPTER 


ON  their  arrival  that  night,  Strode  met 
them  in  the  hall.  They  had  lunched 
with  him  twice,  and  once  they  had 
strolled  across  from  the  Cottage  at  tea- 
time  and  had  been  shown  over  the  whole  rambling 
house,  from  the  dining-room  with  its  oak  settles  and 
rafters  to  the  tower  at  the  eastern  angle  ;  but  they 
had  never  dined  with  him  before. 

The  dinner  was  an  epoch.  Strode  had  felt  it  as 
he  dressed  ;  he  had  felt  it  as  he  paced  the  terrace,  a 
cigar  between  his  lips,  his  eyes  on  the  White  Cottage; 
and  he  realised  it  with  something  of  a  shock  as  he 
held  Anna's  hand  for  a  moment  and  saw  that  the 
cottons  and  muslins  had  been  set  aside  for  something 
that  shimmered  softly  like  the  leaf  of  a  rose.  He 
felt  the  change  with  a  subtle  physical  thrill,  and 
involuntarily  his  fingers  tightened  upon  hers. 

"  This  is  very  good  of  you,"  he  said  gently  ;  then 
he  turned  to  Mrs.  Maxtead  with  a  smile. 

"  I  Ve  been  dreading  your  wrath  all  day,"  he 
began,  as  they  crossed  the  hall  to  the  drawing-room 
beyond,  "  I  Ve  had  a  real  bad  afternoon." 

"  Poor  Maurice  !  What  's  happened  ?  Your  cook 
mutinied  ?  " 


THE    CIRCLE  167 

"Worse.  You  see,  three  people  can't  dine  to- 
gether—11 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  If  you  Ye  sarcastic,  I  'm  going  to  stop.** 

''*  My  dear  boy,  I  'in  earnest  to  depression.  Please 
go  on." 

•*  Well,  there  had  to  be  a  man  to  make  a  fourth." 
They  entered  the  drawing-room. 

Anna  laughed.  "  What  it  is  to  have  a  reputa- 
tion, Jeanne ! " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  walked  to  a  mirror.  "  Would  you 
say  that  Maurice  was  thinking  quite  absolutely  of 
me  ?  But  who  is  this  mysterious  individual  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  to  tell  you." 

"Rake  up  your  courage!  All  men  are  alike  to 
me." 

"  But  you  have  antipathies." 

"  So  have  cats.     Be  quick  ! " 

Strode  smoothed  his  hair  whimsically.  "  1 11  put 
it  in  the  form  of  a  riddle.  What  comes  nearest  to 
death?" 

"Doctors,"  responded  Mrs.  Maxtead  promptly. 

Strode  laughed.  "  Right !  You  've  struck  the 
fourth  guest.  It  "s  the  doctor  from  Cavely  ;  a  very 
decent  chap,  who's  driving  fourteen  miles  for  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you.  Just  appreciate  that." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  waited  to  touch  her  hair,  then  she 
looked  round.  "  I  '11  smell  chloroform  every  time  I 
look  at  him  ;  and  I  know  I  shall  watch  him  cut  up 
his 


168  THE    CIRCLE 

Strode's  lips  twitched.  "There's  a  game  called 
playing  with  fire." 

She  picked  up  a  book. 

Anna  was  smelling  a  jar  of  pot-pourri  ;  she  raised 
her  eyes,  gleaming  with  amusement,  and  met  Strode's 
glance.  "You  can  always  think,  Jeanne,  that  it 
might  have  been  an  undertaker." 

"  Doctor  Penrhyn  ! ""  announced  a  servant  from  the 
door. 

The  dinner  was  a  success.  Strode's  spirits  were 
unquenchable  ;  Mrs.  Maxtead  excelled  herself,  spurred 
to  unusual  height  by  the  presence  of  the  new  guest ; 
and  Anna,  from  the  moment  of  the  first  course,  ate 
and  laughed  and  talked  as  if  life  held  no  other 
obligation. 

The  food  and  wines  were  good.  A  heavy  iron 
lamp,  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  cast  a  glow  upon  the 
cloth,  and  a  bank  of  scarlet  flowers  in  the  centre  of 
the  table  made  a  patch  of  colour.  Everything  sug- 
gested brightness  and  light ;  and  the  entree  had 
been  served  and  removed  before  the  first  pause  broke 
the  run  of  talk.  The  pause  was  momentary  —  one 
of  those  silences  that  no  one  feels  and  from  which 
conversation  flowed  on  afresh,  with  fresh  impetus  ; 
but  short  as  was  its  duration,  it  was  long  enough 
for  one  circumstance,  long  enough  to  give  Anna's 
imagination  time  to  wake.  When  Doctor  Penrhyn, 
raising  his  head,  turned  to  Mrs.  Maxtead  with  a 
new  question,  the  girl's  eyes  were  on  the  flowers  by 


THE    CIRCLE  169 

her  plate,  her  thoughts  for  the  instant  concentrated 
on  herself. 

Never  before  had  life  moved  with  such  precision  ; 
never  till  to-night  had  her  heart  throbbed  so  steadily, 
her  senses  seemed  so  accurate,  her  comprehension  so 
clear.  It  was  a  conscious  awakening,  a  fusion  of 
thoughts  by  which  the  heaven  of  which  she  had 
spoken  that  afternoon  became  an  attainable  fact, 
beckoning  her  with  tangible  hands.  Six  steps  for- 
ward, a  jerk  of  the  arm,  and  it  seemed  that  the  heavy 
curtain  would  drop  into  its  place,  shutting  out  care 
and  the  dun-coloured  world,  leaving  her,  and  perhaps 
one  other,  on  the  inner  golden  side.  She  looked  up 
suddenly  and  met  Strode1*  eyes. 

A  servant,  bending  over  her  shoulder,  filled  her 
glass  ;  her  gaze  dropped  to  the  wine  with  its  cloud 
of  bubbles  ;  then  Mrs.  Maxtead's  laugh  and  Mrs. 
Maxtead's  voice  reached  her  across  the  table,  bring- 
ing back  material  things. 

"  Theories  are  very  well,"  she  was  saying,  "  but  one 
can  only  theorise,  after  all." 

"  Don"1!  you  think  that  that  depends  on  the  basis 
of  the  theory  ?  M  Penrhyn  laid  down  his  glass. 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that."  She  waved  her  hand. 
"  Science  should  be  the  backbone  of  conjecture." 

"  Quite  so."  Penrhyn  smiled.  "  But  to  return  to 
the  starting  of  our  argument.  Genius  is  abnormal, 
therefore  I  hold  genius  must  act  abnormally  at 
some  period  of  its  career.  Don't  you  agree  with 
that,  Strode?" 


170  THE    CIRCLE 

Strode  was  speaking  to  a  servant.  Anna  looked 
up  interestedly. 

"  You  think  excessive  brain  means  eccentricity  ?  " 
she  said. 

"Not  as  you  understand  the  word."  He  smiled 
indulgently.  "  I  don't  mean  that  a  genius  must  eat 
like  a  savage  or  forget  to  wash.  I  believe  that  for 
ten  years,  for  twenty  years,  a  genius  may  act  like  an 
ordinary  human  being,  but  at  the  end  of  those  years 
I  believe  the  abnormality  would  break  out.15 

Anna  laughed.     "  In  what  form  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  the  form  would  depend  upon  chance.  The 
form  of  a  crime,  the  form  of  an  act  of  folly,  any  form 
you  like  to  name.  But  it 's  only  a  theory,  as  Mrs. 
Maxtead  says ;  you  can  refute  it  if  you  like."  He 
picked  up  his  glass  again. 

"  Hallo,  Penrhyn  !  Talking  of  geniuses  in  Mrs. 
Maxtead's  presence  ?  "  Strode  turned  back  to  the 
table  with  a  laugh.  "  In  town,  they  tell  me  that 
she  deals  in  them  —  buys  and  sells  them  by  the  ton. 
Ask  her  for  her  opinion,  don't  offer  yours  —  you  Tl 
find  yourself  in  the  wrong  street." 

Penrhyn's  face  expressed  astonishment.  He  looked 
from  Mrs.  Maxtead  to  Strode,  from  Strode  back 
again. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laughed.  "  You  are  unfair,  Mau- 
rice ;  you  know  that  I  bar  trade  the  moment  I  put 
my  foot  on  Cornish  soil." 

Penrhyn  bent  forward.  "For  the  sake  of  the 
theorists,  Mrs.  Maxtead." 


THE    CIRCLE  111 

"  Just  to  score  off  the  theorists."  Strode  laughed 
again. 

Anna  fingered  her  glass;  her  eyes  were  on  her 
friend^s  face. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  cast  her  one  glance,  swiftly  satirical' 
and  reassuring,  then  she  turned  to  Strode. 

"  When  Doctor  Penrhyn  goes  out  to  dinner,  Mau- 
rice, he  leaves  his  medical  appliances  in  the  consult- 
ing-room. I  claim  the  same  grace.  Am  I  within 
my  rights,  Doctor  Penrhyn  ? "  She  looked  round 
with  a  bright  smile. 

Penrhyn  bowed  solemnly  and  they  all  laughed. 
For  Anna,  there  was  a  moment  of  unaccountably 
swift  relief.  Then,  with  a  change  of  course,  the  talk 
flowed  on  again  into  a  new  groove. 

The  rest  of  the  dinner  sped  on  very  light  wings ; 
and  when  the  end  came,  it  was  with  a  distinct  sense 
of  well-being  that  they  pushed  back  their  chairs  and 
rose.  A  waft  of  air,  faintly  cool,  met  them  at  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room  ;  one  of  the  long  windows 
stood  ajar,  and  the  fine  scent  of  mignonette  blew  in, 
mingled  with  sweet-briar. 

Anna  crossed  directly  to  the  window,  and  Strode 
followed ;  for  a  moment  they  stood  silently  looking 
out.  A  hundred  yards  below  the  terrace  they  could 
hear  the  sea  pounding  against  the  rocks ;  near  at 
hand  they  could  see  the  lawn  with  its  glistening 
moisture  and  plot  of  flowers ;  half-way  between  the 
two,  they  could  follow  the  high-rose  hedge,  already 
astar  with  buds.  Presently,  following  a  frank  im- 
pulse, Anna  turned. 


172  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Does  n't  it  seem  a  shame  to  leave  it  all  in  three 
little  miserable  days  ?  " 

"  In  three  days  ?     But  I  thought  —  " 

She  smiled.  "  So  did  I ;  but  Jeanne  has  arranged 
differently.  She  told  me  this  evening  that  we  go 
back  to  town  on  Thursday.  Doesn't  it  sound 
soon  ?  " 

Strode  said  nothing.  He  was  looking  across  the 
lawn  towards  the  cliff. 

They  heard  Mrs.  Maxtead  laugh  and  Penrhyn 
open  the  piano ;  then  very  gently  the  notes  of 
Chopin's  "  Funeral  March  "  poured  across  the  room. 

Strode  looked  round  at  Anna.  "  But  you  11  come 
back  ?  I  '11  see  you  again  ?  " 

Without  looking  at  him  she  moved  across  the 
room.  "  Jeanne,"  she  said  sharply,  "  why  do  you 
play  that  ?  You  know  that  I  hate  it." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  stopped.  "  Doctor  Penrhyn  has 
never  buried  anybody  to  it ;  1  was  just  showing  him 
how  it  went."  She  began  a  bar  or  two  of  Greig's 
"  Wedding  March."" 

Anna  coloured  and  walked  to  the  piano.  "  You 
are  incorrigible  !  "  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  other's 
fingers.  "  Doctor  Penrhyn,  don't  you  think  it  \s 
horrid  of  her  to  play  of  serious  things  like  marrying 
and  dying,  when  we  were  all  so  gay  ?  " 

Penrhyn  looked  across  the  room.  "  That  de- 
pends," he  said  dryly.  "Our  host  might  be  con- 
templating either  one  or  the  other — judging  by 
looks.* 


THE    CIRCLE  173 

"  Maurice  ! "  called  Mrs.  Maxtead,  "  your  name  is 
being  taken  in  vain ;  come  and  defend  it."  She 
began  to  play  a  minuet. 

Strode  moved  his  shoulders  and  laughed,  then 
slowly  crossed  the  room.  At  the  same  moment  a 
servant  entered  with  coffee,  and  as  the  man  passed 
him  he  took  two  cups  from  the  tray  and  moved 
towards  Anna. 

"  Will  you  be  out  to-morrow  morning  ? "  He 
held  out  one  cup. 

"I  think  so." 

"Before  breakfast?" 

"  Quite  possibly."     She  took  the  cup. 

"  Then  let  me  take  you  for  a  row  ?  The  sea  will 
be  as  smooth  as  glass  ;  1 11  have  the  boat  under  the 
Cottage  at  eight.  Just  say  you  '11  come  ?  "  His 
voice  was  very  low,  but  his  eagerness  was  apparent 
in  every  word. 

An  paused,  then  slightly,  almost  imperceptibly, 
bent  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  below  his  breath ;  then  he 
turned  to  the  piano. 

"  Have  we  leave  to  smoke  ?  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  up  at  him  with  her  shrewd 
eyes,  then  she  looked  down  at  the  keyboard ;  then, 
without  any  obvious  reason,  she  laughed  softly  to 
herself. 


PART  TWO— CHAPTER 


1 


waters  of  the  creek  shone  green  in 
the  morning  light.  Strode  in  a  flannel 
suit,  with  a  pipe  between  his  lips,  leant 
over  the  side  of  his  boat  and  looked 
down  into  the  depths ;  shorewards,  the  cliff  cast 
emerald  shadows ;  seaward,  the  sun  made  a  network 
of  gold ;  by  his  side  a  shelf  of  flat  rocks  with  many 
jagged  points,  many  smoothed  spaces  and  glimmering 
pools,  ran  out  into  the  sea. 

It  was  a  morning  of  shining  stillness ;  the  scrape 
of  the  moored  boat  came  methodically,  as  each  faint 
swell  caused  her  to  brush  the  rocks;  on  the  grey 
shingle  the  imperceptible  waves  broke  with  a  tiny 
crash;  and  high  above  his  head,  from  the  barley 
fields  beyond  the  cliff,  came  the  rise  and  drop  of  a 
lark's  song. 

Anna,  threading  her  way  down  the  steep  path, 
halted  in  silent  admiration ;  the  clearness  of  the 
morning,  the  sharp-cut  newness  of  the  day  broke 
on  her  with  sudden  meaning ;  she  stopped  and  drew 
in  her  breath.  From  her  position  on  the  cliff, 
Strode's  boat,  lying  under  the  shadow  of  the  rocks, 
was  invisible.  For  a  moment  she  wondered  if  it  was 
desecration  to  intrude  on  such  a  scene,  then,  smil- 


THE    CIRCLE  175 

ing  at  the  thought,  she  went  on  again.  The  joy  and 
strength  of  life  were  in  the  air ;  the  sand  of  the  path 
rose  about  her  feet  in  little  clouds  ;  the  light-tinted 
poppies  —  mauve  and  straw-colour  and  pink  —  swept 
her  skirts  as  she  passed;  with  every  step  her  speed' 
increased,  till,  turning  a  curve  in  the  track,  the 
moored  boat  met  her  gaze  and  she  stood  still  again, 
smiling  and  flushed. 

With  the  swiftness  of  her  pause  a  handful  of  peb- 
bles were  unloosed  and  fell  to  the  rocks  in  a  little 
shower.  Strode  looked  up. 

"  One  moment ! ""  he  called,  as  he  raised  his  hat. 
"  Stay  where  you  are.""  He  threw  his  pipe  into  the 
bow  and  sprang  ashore.  Anna,  on  the  path  above, 
watched  the  swinging  ease  with  which  he  crossed  the 
rocks,  and  involuntarily  the  smile  deepened  round  her 
mouth.  The  sun  was  on  his  face  as  he  neared  her,  and 
in  the  critical  light  of  the  morning  his  tanned  skin 
looked  as  clear  as  a  boy's,  his  grey  eyes  almost  as  frank. 

"  The  nicest  thing  about  you  is  your  reliableness," 
he  said.  "  You  keep  a  promise  as  if  you  were  a  man. 
Is  n't  it  a  glorious  day  ?  "  He  held  out  his  hand. 

She  took  it,  and  the  strength  of  the  fingers  and 
coolness  of  his  skin  struck  her ;  she  looked  down  at 
the  hand  and  smiled. 

"  You  Ve  been  in  the  sea." 

"  Yes,  at  six  o'clock."" 

They  began  to  descend  the  cliff. 

"  Had  you  a  good  swim  ?  " 

"  Fine !     I  pulled  round  to  my  special  diving- 


176  THE    CIRCLE 

stone  and  had  a  glorious  plunge.  Look  out.  That's 
a  bad  bit.  But  I  Ve  been  home  since  then  and  have 
brushed  my  hair,  I  would  n't  have  dared  meet  you 
otherwise."  He  laughed  and  took  off  his  hat. 

She  looked  at  his  well-smoothed  hair.  '*  That  was 
very  considerate  of  you."  She  smiled. 

He  looked  at  her  seriously.  "Do  you  find  me 
considerate  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"  No  special  reason.  I  'd  like  to  seem  a  decent 
sort  of  chap  —  to  you." 

They  were  silent  till  the  boat  was  reached.  Anna 
stepped  in  with  due  regard  to  balance ;  then,  before 
taking  her  place  in  the  stern,  she  lifted  a  cushion 
and  held  it  up.  "  Here  is  your  witness,"  she  said. 

They  both  laughed,  and  Strode,  setting  the  boat 
adrift,  jumped  in  ;  a  second  later,  the  boat  swung 
slowly  outward  from  the  rocks.  A  dozen  rapid 
strokes  sent  them  well  into  the  open ;  the  cliff 
receded,  becoming  a  dark  mass  against  the  sky ; 
the  sea  spread  before  them  a  lawn  of  enchanted 
j?;reen.  Anna  leant  back,  the  ropes  of  the  rudder 
held  idly  in  her  hands;  to  her  ears,  the  click  of 
the  oars  in  the  rowlocks  was  like  soothing  music  ; 
the  joy  of  motion  ran  tingling  through  her.  It  was 
a  full  minute  before  she  stirred  or  spoke ;  even  then 
it  was  lazily,  as  one  makes  a  forced  concession. 

"  I  want  you  to  talk,"  she  spoke  without  looking  up. 

Strode  leant  forward,  resting  on  the  oars.  "  Can 
I  choose  the  subject  ? "" 


rlHE    CIRCLE  17~ 

She  looked  up  swiftly,  then  immediately  her 
glance  fell.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  I  ^11  choose  that.  Let 
me  see.  Tell  me  about  Canada  again/1 

For  a  second  he  sat  very  still,  then  he  jerked  his 
hands  and  a  shower  of  water  beads  scattered  from  the 
blades  of  the  oars.  "  I  almost  expected  that,"  he  said. 

"Why?" 

"  Why  ?  "  He  pulled  three  strokes.  "  Because 
the  last  fortnight  every  time  I  've  tried  to  say  any- 
thing that  I  wanted  to  say,  I  Ve  been  shoved  back  on 
Canada.  I  ""m  about  sick  of  Canada  —  "  He  lifted 
the  oars  again. 

Anna  looked  down  at  the  ropes,  to  hide  the  smile 
behind  her  eyes.  "That's  very  hard  on  you,"  she 
said. 

"  Somewhat."  He  looked  at  her  directly.  "  On 
Friday  I  talked  about  ice-sailing  till  my  throat 
parched ;  on  Saturday  you  questioned  me  for  an  hour 
on  the  relative  hardness  of  hickory  and  ironwood  ;  on 
Sunday  "  —  he  stopped  impressively  —  "  on  Sunday 
my  tea  got  cold  while  I  described  the  exact  heat  at 
which  copper  can  be  extracted  from  its  ores,  and 
after  that  Mi's.  Max  lead  refused  me  another  cup 
until  I  'd  made  a  diagram  of  the  first  reverberatory 
melting- furnace  my  uncle  ever  used.  Do  you  wonder 
that  I  Ve  struck  ?  " 

Anna  raised  her  head.  "  Poor  you ! "  she  said. 
"  And  you  were  so  nice  and  courteous  and  interesting 
all  the  time." 

Strode  laughed.  "  And  now  you  see  the  beast 
IS 


178  THE    CIRCLE 

without  his  skin.  Just  admit  that  there  are  other 
things  in  life  beside  mining  and  smelting  and  export- 
ing ?  "  He  leant  across  the  oars. 

Anna  blushed  suddenly.  "  Look ! "  she  said. 
"  We  Ye  drifting  out  to  sea." 

"  I  want  an  answer  to  my  question." 

"  And  I  want  to  skirt  the  head,  close  in  by  the 
land." 

The  boat  spun  round ;  in  twenty  strokes  they  were 
in  shelter  of  the  cliff,  skimming  slowly  past  the  rocks. 

"  Now  you  Ve  got  your  way,  let  me  have  mine  ? 
Just  admit  that  there  are  other  things  ?  " 

Anna  was  silent ;  she  leant  out  and  caught  a  strand 
of  seaweed  dangling  from  a  rock. 

"  Are  n't  there  other  things  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  there  are.  Is  n't  this  a  lovely  brown  ?  * 
She  held  the  seaweed  to  the  light. 

Strode  deliberately  shipped  the  oars  and  let  the 
boat  drift ;  then  he  leant  forward  and  took  the  sea- 
weed from  her  hand. 

Their  eyes  met. 

"  When  the  crew  mutinies,"  she  said,  "  it 's  time 
for  the  passenger  to  junjp  ashore."  She  laughed  a 
little  nervously,  but  there  was  an  excited  brightness 
in  her  eyes. 

Without  changing  his  position,  Strode  threw  the 
seaweed  overboard.  "  The  passenger  would  only  wet 
her  pretty  frock,"  he  said  ;  "  she  would  n't  alter  the 
inevitable  by  a  pin's  point."  He  looked  at  her 
steadily. 


THE    CIRCLE  179 

Anna's  fingers  tightened  again  round  the  ropes. 
She  looked  out  across  the  sea  —  over  the  spaces  of 
glassy  green  to  the  white  horizon  line. 

Strode  bent  very  near.  With  one  hand  he  warded 
the  boat  from  the  rocks,  with  the  other  he  touched 
her  arm. 

"  There  are  times  when  a  man  seems  a  fool,""  he 
said  ;  "  the  more  he  feels,  the  greater  fool  he  seems. 
I  want  you  not  to  laugh.11 

Anna  remained  silent,  but  a  mist  —  either  of  sun 
or  tears  —  crossed  her  eyes  and  shut  away  the  sea. 

His  fingers  moved  down  and  touched  her  hand. 
"  I  Ve  cared  for  you  since  that  first  night  in  town. 
Say,  do  I  seem  at  all  worth  caring  for  ?  " 

There  was  no  sound.  So  great  was  the  quiet  that 
fifty  yards  above  them  they  could  hear  a  goat  mov- 
ing amongst  the  bracken  on  the  cliff. 

"  Anna  ?  " 

A  puffin  sailed  round  the  stem  of  the  boat,  looked 
up  inquisitively  at  the  silent  figures,  then  dived 
under  the  keel. 

"Anna?" 

At  last  Anna  turned ;  there  was  a  light  in  her  eyes 
and  her  smile  was  very  sweet.  When  she  spoke 
there  was  an  echo  of  the  old  childish  candour  run- 
ning through  her  voice. 

"I  think  you  are  more  worth  caring  for  than  any- 
body in  the  world,"  she  said  simply ;  and  her  warm 
fingers  closed  round  his. 


PART    TWO— CHAPTER    VIII 

MRS.  MAXTEAD  shook  out  the  sheets 
of  her  newspaper  and   skimmed    the 
paragraphs  with  a  preoccupied  glance  ; 
it   was  the   "  Morning  Post "  of  the 
day  before,  and  stale  news  lacks  piquancy.     After  a 
five  minutes1  perusal  she  laid  the  paper  down,  and  her 
lingers  strayed  to  the  day's  correspondence.     There 
were  nine  letters  for  her  and  fourteen  for  Anna  — 
fourteen  envelopes,  mostly  foreign  and  all  much  re- 
addressed.     She   sorted   them  quickly,  and  leaning 
across  the  table  made  a  little  heap  beside  the  girl's 
plate  ;  then  she  picked  up  a  knife  and  opened  her 
own  letters  one  by  one. 

The  small  round  table  had  been  drawn  into  the 
sun ;  bunches  of  mignonette  rose  cool  and  odorous 
from  green  bowls ;  the  chintx-covered  furniture  and 
muslin  curtains  shone  in  the  light ;  and  through  the 
open  French  window  the  warm  salt  fragrance  of 
the  sea  drifted  in  across  the  lawn.  The  promise  of 
the  day,  that  two  hours  before  had  lain  coolly  on  the 
waters,  was  already  merging  into  hot  fulfilment.  In 
Cornwall,  summer  sits  luxuriously  in  the  flower 
fields,  while  in  less  favoured  spots  spring  is  still 
trailing  her  skirts. 


THE    CIRCLE  181 

Mrs.  Maxtead  began  one  letter,  passed  on  to  a 
second,  picked  up  a  third ;  then  the  door  opened  and 
the  little  Cornish  maid  entered,  carrying  a  dish. 

Her  mistress  looked  up.  "  Don't  uncover  the 
fish,  Dolly,  I1!!  wait  for  five  minutes  more."  Her 
eyes  returned  to  her  letter,  and  the  maid  withdrew. 
She  read  on  to  the  third  page,  then  again  she  raised 
her  eyes;  there  was  a  fresh  interruption.  A  fresh 
sound  was  borne  across  the  lasvn  ;  the  pleasantest 
sound  the  world  holds  —  the  sound  of  young  voices 
in  the  early  air.  She  listened  for  a  second,  then  she 
did  a  considerate  thing.  Leaning  across  the  table, 
she  reversed  the  top  envelope  of  Anna's  pile,  When 
the  voices  and  laughter  grew  nearer,  then  altogether 
ceased  and  two  shadows  fell  across  the  sun,  she  was 
looking  up  calmly  with  lifted  brows. 

"  Maurice ! "  she  said  in  affected  surprise.  "  Anna 
I  have  seen  before  —  from  my  bedroom  window  ;  but 
Maurice  —  "  She  looked  with  quizzical  amusement 
from  one  radiant  face  to  the  other. 

Strode  moved  forward.  "  I  just  rowed  over  and 
moored  in  the  creek  — 

"And  Anna  selected  the  rocks  for  a  morning 
walk  ?  What  a  delightful  coincidence  ! " 

Anna  stepped  into  the  room  ;  her  arms  were  full 
of  poppies,  straw-coloured  and  pink,  her  light  dress 
was  strewn  with  their  petals  ;  her  skin,  darkened  by 
three  weeks1  sun,  seemed  to  glow  with  colour  and 
life.  "  Feel  these  —  are  n't  they  like  silk  ?  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  dusted  the  pollen  from  her  cheek 


182  THE    CIRCLE 

and  laughed.  "Do  you  think  I  need  drugging?" 
She  looked  across  at  Strode. 

He  returned  her  glance  humorously.  "D'you 
know,"  he  said,  "I've  sometimes  speculated  on  that 
very  score."" 

Her  eyes  sparkled.  "  Speculation,  my  dear  Mau- 
rice, is  another  form  of  laziness.  Come  in  and  ring 
the  bell.  Of  course  you'll  stay  to  breakfast,  now 
that  you  are  here  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could.""  His  eyes  sought  Anna's,  but 
hers  were  on  the  flowers. 

«  What  prevents  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see  — "  HP  passed  his  hand  over  his 
hair.  "  Penrhyn  stayed  with  me  last  night ;  I  sup- 
pose hell  want  some  food.  It's  a  great  bore,  of 
course  —  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  poured  some  cream  into  her  cup. 
"  How  inconsiderate  of  Penrhyn  !  "  She  raised  her 
eyes.  "  Though  somehow  I  look  upon  him  leni- 
ently ;  I  Ve  been  starving,  myself,  for  half  an  hour." 

Anna  dropped  her  flowers.  "Oh,  Jeanne,  how 
abominable  of  me !  Let  me  make  up  !  "  She  lifted 
the  cover  of  the  silver  dish. 

Strode  stepped  from  the  window  and  took  up  a  plate. 

"  You  should  have  seen  the  sea  this  morning, 
Jeanne."  Anna  helped  the  fish  quickly.  "  It  was 
pure  glass  —  like  a  magic  mirror." 

"  The  mirror  of  Shalot."  Strode  balanced  the  hot 
plate.  "  It  reflected  all  the  things  in  life." 

Anna  coloured  and  hastily  covered  the  dish.     "  It 


THE    CIRCLE  183 

was  so  still  under  the  headland  that  we  could  hear  a 
goat  cropping  the  grass,  ever  so  high  above." 

"  Fact,  Mrs.  Maxtead."  Strode  carried  round  the 
plate  and  set  it  down. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  out  across  the  lawn.  "  Poor 
Doctor  Penrhyn ! "  she  murmured  below  her  breath. 

Strode  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Yes ;  I  expect 
one  has  obligations."  He  looked  regretfully  round. 
"  What  a  jolly  room  this  is  !  Got  a  sort  of  curved 
effect  —  "  He  stopped. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  back  into  the  room.  "  When 
I  stay  with  you,  Maurice,  you  H  arrange  that  we 
breakfast  independently,  won't  you  ?  It  would  be 
guch  a  saving  of  time." 

Strode  laughed.  "  If  Penrhyn  has  missed  a  meal, 
he 's  gained  a  champion.  Good-bye.'"'  He  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  Since  when  have  we  become  ceremonious  ? "  she 
said,  ignoring  the  hand. 

He  turned  to  Anna.     "  Will  you  ?  " 

She  extended  her  hand  laughingly.  "  It 's  right 
to  pity  the  rejected,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

Their  fingers  touched,  and  Strode's  eyes  fell  on 
her  plate. 

"  What  a  lot  of  letters  ! " 

Involuntarily  her  free  hand  touched  the  top  en- 
velope. "  What  a  lot  of  responsibilities  !  "  There 
was  a  nervous  note  in  her  voice  ;  she  raised  her  eyes 
and  met  his  straight  glance.  "We  all  have  our 
responsibilities.  You  have  Doctor  Penrhyn  — " 
She  laughed  again. 


184  THE    CIRCLE 

The  faint  shadow  of  question  left  his  face  as 
quickly  as  it  had  come.  He  pressed  her  hand. 
"  You  should  have  none ;  you  were  made  to  shift 
your  burdens  on  to  someone  else." 

"  Maurice ! " 

"  Not  another  word,  Mrs.  Maxtead  ;  I  'm  off ! " 
He  crossed  the  room  ;  but  at  the  French  window  he 
turned  back. 

"Say,  Mrs.  Maxtead?'1 

She  looked  up. 

"  Penrhyn  will  be  with  me  till  evening ;  we  11  be 
boring  each  other  to  death  by  afternoon  — " 

She  raised  her  cup.  "  Doctor  Penrhyn  struck  me 
as  being  rather  interesting,"  she  remarked  dryly. 

Strode  stepped  back  into  the  room.  "Then  ask 
us>  along  to  tea  —  ?" 

There  was  a  long  pause ;  then  Mrs.  Maxtead 
looked  up  with  a  whimsical  expression.  "Trans- 
parent as  you  are,  Maurice,  you  shut  out  the  sun."" 

Strode  backed  on  to  the  lawn.     "  But  the  tea  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  want  to  come  very  badly,  turn  up  at 
five.1' 

"  You're  the  rudest  person  created  ;  but  we  '11  come 
at  five."  He  looked  towards  Anna,  but  she  had 
picked  up  her  flowers  again  ;  with  a  laugh,  he  turned 
towards  the  sea,  and  they  heard  him  whistle  as  he 
crossed  the  lawn. 

After  he  had  gone  there  was  a  momentous  pause. 
Anna  arranged  the  poppies  with  undue  attention  to 
their  shades ;  she  felt  her  companion's  eyes,  like 


THE    CIRCLE  185 

humorously  keen  and  searching  lights ;  she  felt  the 
blood  mount  to  her  cheeks  and  her  consciousness 
tingle  into  her  hands  till  her  fingers  stumbled  ;  then 
at  last,  with  a  collapse  of  all  resolve,  she  threw  the 
flowers  in  a  heap  on  the  table  and  looked  up. 

«  Well  ?  "  she  said. 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  eyes  wandered  over  her  face. 
"  Is  n't  it  I  who  should  say  that  ?  "  She  poured  out 
a  cup  of  coffee  and  passed  it  across  the  table. 

Anna  sat  down,  drank  a  little,  then  fingered  her 
letters  with  unusual  haste. 

A  smile  passed  over  Mrs.  Maxtead's  face.  "  The 
letters  ran  it  rather  close  this  morning,11  she  said; 
"  too  close  to  be  repeated.  I  'd  tell  him  to-day,  if 
I  were  you."" 

Anna  suddenly  pushed  her  cup  away  and  rose ; 
there  was  colour  and  excitement  in  her  face  ;  for  a 
moment  it  seemed  that  the  emotions  that  underran 
her  nature  would  flood  and  overflow,  but  she  checked 
the  outbreak  ;  her  face  was  calm  again,  and  she 
walked  round  the  table. 

"  I  meant  to  tell  him,  Jeanne.  Yesterday,  when 
you  spoke  about  it,  I  made  up  my  mind ;  and  last 
night,  when  he  asked  me  to  come  on  the  water  this 
morning,  I  agreed,  because  it  seemed  so  excellent  a 
chance  —  so  excellent  an  opportunity."  She  paused. 

"  I  understand.     That  was  last  night." 

"  No ;  you  Ye  wrong.  When  I  woke,  the  intention 
was  stronger  than  before.  I  rehearsed  how  I  \1  put 
the  thing,  all  the  way  down  the  cliff." 


186  THE    CIRCLE 

"And  got  stage  fright  at  the  last  moment." 

Anna  smiled.  "  Well,  at  first  there  was  the  sun 
and  the  sea  and  the  quickness  of  the  boat,  and  I 
could  n't  break  in  on  them  straight  away  ;  afterwards, 
under  the  cliff —  "  She  stopped  again. 

The  other  looked  up  keenly  and  quizzically. 
"  What  happened  under  the  cliff?11 

For  a  second  the  girl  moved  irresolutely;  then 
with  a  little  rustle  she  dropped  to  her  knees  beside 
her  companion's  chair,  and  looked  up  into  her  face. 

"  Under  the  cliff,  Jeanne,  it  was  impossible." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  bent  —  an  unusual  impulse  with 
her.  "  And  why,  Anna  ?  " 

Anna  returned  her  gaze ;  for  a  second  the  single- 
ness of  her  soul  showed  like  starlight  in  her  eyes, 
then  her  lashes  fell.  "  Because  he  cares  for  me, 
Jeanne,  and  I  care  for  him  —  and  there  was  no  room 
for  anything  beside."" 

An  odd  expression  crossed  the  other's  face  —  an 
expression  fleeting  as  air,  that  was  yet  a  shadow,  a 
faint  reflection  of  a  thought.  She  bent  lower  and 
her  lips  parted,  then  suddenly  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  sat  upright.  A  second  later  she 
laughed,  her  old  casual  laugh. 

"  My  dear  Anna,  you  have  a  wonderful  power. 
Another  minute  and  I  believe  I  should  have  cried. 
Get  up  and  ring  for  a  new  breakfast!  As  for 
Maurice  Strode  —  I  made  up  my  mind  ten  months 
ago  that  you  and  he  should  marry ;  it  took  me  four 
years  to  find  a  genius,  it  has  taken  me  eleven  to 


THE    CIRCLE  187 

find  an  honest  man."  She  shook  out  her  skirts  and 
rose. 

Anna  stood  up  as  well ;  but  she  still  held  the 
other's  hand,  and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Jeanne  —  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  freed  her  hand  and  held  it  up. 
"  Don't ! "  she  said.  "  Blame  is  bracing,  but 
praise  —  **  She  never  finished ;  with  a  sudden  hasty 
movement  she  walked  to  the  window  and  out  across 
the  lawn. 


PART   TWO  — CHAPTER  IX 

MRS.  MAXTEAD  lay  back  in  her  long 
deck-chair  and  held  up  her  hand. 
"  What  a  day  it  has  been  !  Even  the 
dew  is  forgetting  to  fall ! "" 

Penrhyn,  from  his  camp  stool,  looked  critically 
towards  the  copper- tinted  sky.  "  Storm  to-morrow !  " 
he  said  laconically,  as  he  laid  his  empty  cup  on  the 
grass. 

"  What  a  prophet  of  evil !  "     She  smiled. 

"  Never  mind  Penrhyn,  Mrs.  Maxtead,  he  has  a. 
prophetic  instinct  for  sulphurous  smells.11  Strode, 
lying  on  the  lawn,  shifted  his  hat  from  his  face  and 
laughed. 

Anna  lifted  her  head  and  unconsciously  echoed  the 
laugh.  She  was  standing  by  the  tea-table,  throwing 
crumbs  to  the  thrushes,  as  they  hopped  in  and  out 
amongst  the  flower-beds.  Her  tall  figure,  in  its  soft 
pink  dress,  was  outlined  against  the  whiteness  of  the 
house  ;  her  face  looked  very  radiant  and  very  young. 
"  What  a  lazy  afternoon  ! "  she  said.  "  We  were 
silent  for  five  minutes  till  Jeanne  spoke  ;  I  counted, 
as  I  fed  the  birds.'1 

"  What  a  shameful  waste  of  tin.e  !  "  Strode  rose, 
shaking  some  newly  mown  hay  from  his  clothes. 
"It's  six  o'clock;  I  propose  a  walk." 


THE    CIRCLE  189 

"  A  what,  Maurice  ?  "  Mrs.  Maxtead  sat  up  and 
swept  her  parasol  through  a  cloud  of  gnats. 

"  My  dear  Strode "  —  Penrhyn  took  off  his  pan- 
aina  and  fanned  himself —  "  there  is  no  more  ill- 
considered  act."" 

"  Rot !  "  said  Strode  sharply.  "  There  "s  no  more 
sensible  thing  than  a  walk  round  the  cliff  before 
dinner.  Just  round  to  your  nook,  Mrs.  Maxtead, 
and  back  again  ?  " 

Anna  moved  round  the  table.  "Do,  Jeanne. 
The  cliff  is  so  lovely  and  ghostly  in  the  dusk." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  shut  her  parasol.  "  I  detest  psychi- 
cal research.  Beside,  I  have  n't  got  my  hat. " 

"  1 11  fetch  the  hat,  Mrs.  Maxtead." 

"  My  dear  Maurice,  you  would  be  sure  to  bring  an 
unbecoming  one.  If  you  want  a  walk,  why  not  take 
Anna  ?  Doctor  Penrhyn  and  I  have  outgrown  the 
fascination  of  getting  lost  in  the  dark.  Let  us  stay 
where  we  are ;  there 's  a  new  embalming  process 
that  I  want  badly  to  discuss."  Her  eyes  gleamed 
ironically. 

Strode  laughed.  "  We  are  taught  not  to  be  im* 
portunate,"  he  said.  "Of  course,  if  you  prefer 
mummies  to  —  " 

"  Moonshine.  Quite  right,  Maurice !  "  Her  voice 
was  keen  and  amused.  "  Take  care  of  Anna,  and 
have  her  back  by  eight." 

Strode  turned  to  Anna.  "The  powers  are  de- 
cisive," he  said ;  "  what  are  we  to  do  ?  "  His  tone 
was  light,  but  his  eyes  pleaded. 


190  THE    CIRCLE 

She  looked  at  him  for  an  instant ;  then  her  glance 
met  Mrs.  Maxtead's,  and  she  smiled.  "  Bow  to  the 
inevitable,  I  suppose/1 

Strode  smiled  his  gratitude  ana  a  moment  later 
the  two  crossed  the  lawn.  They  walked  quickly,  as 
only  the  very  young  and  the  very  happy  walk ;  their 
forms  were  silhouetted  straight  and  clear  against  the 
orange  sky  ;  and  as  they  turned  to  the  right,  and 
the  white  gate  swung  to  behind  them,  Strode's  care- 
less laugh  floated  back  across  the  quiet.  Mrs.  Max- 
tead  sighed,  then  moved  restlessly. 

"  Doctor  Penrhyn,"  she  said,  "  there  is  one  gulf 
you  scientists  will  never  bridge ;  one  thing  you  will 
never  give  us  back." 

Penrhyn  leant  forward.     "  And  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Is  our  youth-1'     She  closed  her  eyes. 

The  track  round  the  headland  had  darkened  to 
purple  against  the  green  of  the  bracken  ;  above  the 
waters  the  coming  dusk  had  gathered  in  a  cloud ; 
against  a  metallic  sky  a  band  of  rooks  drew  slowly 
homeward  with  a  flap  of  heavy  wings  and  an  occa- 
sional raw  cry ;  in  the  distance,  a  cow  lowed  with 
gentle  persistence.  The  whole  of  nature  seemed 
drowsy  with  coming  sleep. 

Anna  looked  up  at  Strode.  "  Do  you  ever  feel," 
she  said,  "that  there  are  times  when  one  is  too 
happy  —  when  everything  is  so  still  that  one  waits 
for  and  dreads  a  break  ?  " 

For  answer,  he  bent  and  kissed  her,     "  Dearest,11 


THE    CIRCLE  191 

he  said  quietly,  *'  when  two  people  suddenly  find 
their  hands  full  of  happiness,  they  don't  look  away 
for  suppositions ;  they  want  their  thoughts  for  some- 
thing nearer  home." 

They  walked  on  again,  and  involuntarily  she 
closed  her  eyes ;  there  was  deep  safety  and  protec- 
tion in  the  clasp  of  his  fingers  about  her  hand  She 
put  her  next  question  in  a  reluctant  voice. 

"  Maurice,  have  you  ever  had  anything  on  your 
mind?" 

He  looked  at  her  humorously.  "  Of  course." 
He  laughed.  "  Debts  and  duty  and  heaps  of  things. 
But  why  ? " 

"  Because "  —  she  moved  her  fingers  restlessly 
in  his,  then  looked  quickly  up  —  "  because  I  hav  e 
something  on  mine  —  something  I  want  to  say." 

"  Something  serious  ? "  He  gazed  directly  out 
across  the  sea. 

"  Something  quite  serious." 

"Then  I  won't  hear  it."  He  looked  round. 
"  There  is  only  one  serious  thing  that  I  '11  listen  to 
to-night,  and  that  I've  already  heard."  He  lifted 
her  hand  and  held  it  against  his  lips.  His  manner 
was  quiet,  but  there  was  a  reliant  intonation  in  his 
voice. 

She  looked  up  again  with  swift  appreciation. 
"  Maurice,  I  Ve  always  said  you  would  be  good  at 
understanding.  Was  I  right  ?  " 

He  thought  for  a  moment  without  replying  ;  then 
he  glanced  down  at  her  with  an  amused  smile.  "  I 


192  THE    CIRCLE 

expect  that  depends,""  he  said.  "I  have  been 
called  obstinate  and  prejudiced  and  a  lot  of  other 
unpleasant  things;  but  I  think  I  could  be  very 
lenient  to  you." 

"  This  thing  of  mine  —  "  Her  fingers  moved  un- 
easily again.  "  It 's  so  little  and  yet  so  big ;  I 
want  to  say  it  and  I  can't  say  it.  What  must  I 
do?"  She  laughed. 

Walking  quickly,  they  had  turned  the  first  bend 
of  the  cliff,  and  the  full  majesty  of  the  sea  spread 
before  them  ;  above,  crowning  the  headland,  stood 
three  trees,  whipped  into  fantastic  shapes  by  re- 
current gales ;  and  below,  sharp  against  the  water, 
rose  the  pointed  rock  that  marked  Mrs.  Maxtead's 
nook.  Anna  looked  towards  the  horizon,  then  back 
to  the  path  stretching  in  a  dark  ribbon  from  their 
feet. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  she  said  again. 

For  a  full  minute  Strode  was  silent,  then  quite 
abruptly  he  stood  still. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  Ve  been  called  obstinate,"  he 
said,  "  but  no  one  has  ever  called  me  inquisitive. 
I  care  for  you  beyond  anything  in  the  world, 
which  means  I  believe  in  you  beyond  am  thing  in 
the  world.  I  don't  want  to  hear  your  secret,  but  if 
it  worries  you,  have  it  out.  Have  it  out,  and  let  \s 
forget  it !  I  give  you  to  the  nook  to  screw  u  p  your 
courage.""  He  laughed  again,  and  in  the  fading 
daylight  his  eyes  looked  very  clear. 

Anna  drew  a  great  sigh   of  satisfaction.     "  You 


THE    CIRCLE  193 

are  as  sensible  as  Jeanne,"  she  said,  "  and  as  good 
as  a  light.  I  so  often  feel  stupid  in  the  dusk." 

They  walked  on,  in  silence  and  close  together,  till 
the  rocks  were  reached.  There  Anna  drew  away. 

**  Look,"  she  cried,  "  there 's  a  star  at  the  horizon 
—  and  another  —  and  another  —  "  Her  eyes  swept 
the  sky.  "  Oh,  Maurice,  how  good  the  world  is ! 
All  ray  silly  dread  is  gone."  Her  voice  was  clear 
and  reassured  again.  She  stepped  back  to  him  and 
touched  his  hand. 

"  And  the  secret  ?  "     He  laughed. 

"  Oh,  you  shall  hear  it  when  we  are  sitting  com- 
fortably in  the  rocks  —  where  you  cannot  see  my 
face."  * 

"  Is  it  as  terrible  as  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  momentous."  She  laughed.  "  You  go 
first ;  I  get  on  best  without  any  help."  A  sudden 
weight  seemed  lifted  from  her ;  she  threw  back  her 
head  and  breathed  in  the  salt  warm  air.  Then  she 
stooped  and  picked  a  handful  of  dog-roses  that 
gleamed  white  in  the  partial  gloom. 

"  Maurice !  * 

"Dearest?"  Strode  looked  up  from  the  second 
ledge  of  rock. 

"  Are  these  roses  pink  or  white  ?  "  She  leant  down 
and  held  the  flowers  at  arm's  length. 

He  caught  her  fingers.  "  Pink  of  course  —  next  to 
your  hand." 

They  both  laughed. 

"Is  it  safe  to  jump?"  She  leant  farther  out. 
13 


194  THE    CIRCLE 

There  was  a  delicious  sense  of  danger  in  the  dusk  of 
the  sharp  descent. 

Strode  held  up  his  arms.    "  Quite  safe  —  like  this  ! " 

He  held  her  for  a  moment  closely  ;  then  they  both 
stood  flushed  and  laughing  on  the  little  rock-bound 
plateau. 

Anna  felt  her  hat,  then  began  to  twist  the  rose- 
stalks  into  a  bunch. 

"  May  I  have  one  ?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes.     "  Can  I  spare  one  ?  " 

"  You  have  too  many  good  things  already." 

She  smiled,  and  slowly  detached  two  buds.  "  Have 
you  a  pin  ?  " 

He  searched  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  "  No  ;  won't  it 
do  without  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  You  M  lose  one  bud,  and  the 
other  would  feel  so  small,  all  alone  in  the  world. 
Perhaps  this  will  do  ?"  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
belt  and  drew  out  a  pearl-headed  pin.  "  Now  stand 
quite  still." 

He  obeyed  and  the  roses  were  arranged.  She  took 
a  step  back  and  surveyed  the  effect.  "  That 's  quite 
nice,  but  you  must  give  me  something  in  exchange  for 
the  pin  ;  pins  are  unlucky,  you  know." 

"  So  they  are.  Just  a  second  ! "  He  searched 
one  pocket,  then  another ;  then  he  looked  up  with 
whimsical  distress.  "  By  Jove  !  "  he  said,  "  Penryhn 
has  cleaned  me  out  at  piquet.  There  is  n't  a  six- 
pence left." 

Involuntarily  she  laughed.     "  A  penny,  then." 


THE    CIRCLE  195 

"  I  scattered  my  coppers  among  the  urchins,  as  we 
came  to  tea.  What  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

She  laughed  again.     "  Give  me  back  my  pin." 

He  looked  up.  "  Your  first  present  ?  Not  quite." 
He  recommenced  his  search ;  then  suddenly  his  face 
cleared.  "  By  Jove  !  "  he  said  again  ;  and  with  a  jerk 
he  pulled  out  his  watch. 

Anna  came  nearer. 

"  This  is  a  coin  with  a  history  —  or  rather,  the 
coin  of  a  man  with  a  history."  His  fingers  were  busy 
on  a  little  ring.  "  I  would  n't  part  with  it  to  anyone 
but  you  —  I  would  n't  really;  I  must  tell  you  its  story 
some  day,  when  you  Ve  got  time  to  listen."  With  a 
twist  the  ring  opened  and  he  held  out  the  coin  —  a 
copper  coin  that  showed  dully  in  the  twilight. 

Anna  took  it  and  held  it  up.  "  This  is  valuable,"" 
she  said  interestedly.  "It  belongs  to  the  Greek 
Imperial  coinage."  She  scanned  the  rude  religious 
rite  that  the  coin  portrayed. 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  admiration.  "  One 
is  always  finding  new  things  in  you.  I  did  n't  know 
you  cared  for  coins  —  and  things  like  that." 

She  blushed.  "  I  understand  them  a  little  — 
coins  and  manuscript."  She  drew  away  from  him,  and 
settled  herself  hastily  in  Mrs.  Maxtead's  favourite 
seat,  making  a  place  for  Strode  at  her  feet. 

He  dropped  into  the  appointed  place  and  sat 
silent  for  a  while ;  then  he  looked  up.  "  Now  what 
about  the  wonderful  secret  ?  "  He  took  off  his  hat 
and  laid  it  on  the  jjrass. 


196  THE    CIRCLE 

She  stooped  forward  and  touched  his  haix 
"  When  we  get  back,"  she  said  softly. 

"  Come,  you  're  shirking  the  compact." 

"  Maurice  —  " 

"  No  excuses."     He  smiled  and  felt  for  her  hand. 

She  looked  at  the  rocks,  then  at  the  sea ;  then 
she  closed  her  eyes  in  dreamy  pleasure. 

"  Maurice,  let 's  make  a  bargain  ?  v 

He  looked  up  at  her.  "  A  deal  ?  "  He  raised  his 
eyebrows. 

She  opened  her  eyes  lazily  and  smiled.  Something 
of  the  coming  warmth  and  darkness  of  the  night 
were  shadowed  in  her  face.  "  Yes.  Tell  me  your 
story  now,  and  I  '11  tell  mine  afterwards.  It  is  the 
very  hour  for  a  romance." 

Strode  raised  himself.  "  But,  my  dear  child, 
'twould  take  an  hour." 

"  I  'd  like  it  to  take  two.  Be  nice,  Maurice,  and 
give  me  my  way." 

"  You  won't  like  it ;  it 's  a  sad  story." 

She  leant  forward  gently  and  laid  her  hand  in  his. 

"When  one  is  very  happy,  Maurice,  one  likes  to 
hear  of  other  people's  sadness  ;  it  makes  one  appre- 
ciate." 

Strode  sank  back. 

**  You  're  a  regular  tyrant,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  sup- 
pose the  atmosphere  is  in  league  with  you ;  no  one 
would  have  the  physical  energy  to  resist  anything 
to-night.  May  I  light  my  pipe?" 


PART    TWO— CHAPTER    X 


1 


was  an  interval  of  silence  while 
Strode  pulled  at  his  pipe.  To  Anna, 
waiting  in  lazy  contentment,  the  faint 
curl  of  smoke  and  the  dull  glow  of  the 
smouldering  tobacco  —  a  red  disc  against  the  par- 
tial gloom  —  gave  a  sense  of  peace ;  they  seemed  to 
presage  many  such  scenes,  many  such  hours,  and 
with  a  wide  sense  of  thankfulness  she  let  her  eyes 
close  again. 

"I'll  begin  in  the  orthodox  way.  It  was  five 
years  ago  —  " 

Anna  smiled  and  nestled  back  against  the  rock. 
"  How  perfect !  I  sha'n't  even  interrupt  with  *  yes ' 
or  « no.' " 

"  It  was  five  years  ago  —  on  my  second  visit  home ; 
when  I  was  twenty-three." 

"  It  is  n't  a  love  story,  Maurice  ?  " 

**  Not  of  my  making.  But  I  thought  you  were  n't 
going  to  interrupt." 

She  laughed  happily.     "  Go  on." 

He  smoked  jilently  for  a  moment ;  then  looked 
up.  "  By  the  way,  Anna,  you  won't  laugh  if  I  get 
serious  at  the  end  ?  I  'm  not  a  sentimental  chap, 
but  the  tale  caught  me  in  a  solemn  mood.  It  worked 


198  THE    CIRCLE 

on  me  at  the  time;  it's  made  sort  of  echoes  ever 
since.     Promise  you  won't  laugh  ?  " 

She   put   out   her    hand   and    touched   his   hair. 
"  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  it  began  in  an  uncommon  way." 
He  settled  himself  more  comfortably.  "  It  was  my 
first  day  in  London ;  I  possessed  no  club  then,  and 
the  few  people  I  knew  were  out  of  town.  I  was  in 
the  dull  position  of  an  absolutely  aimless  being, 
when,  strolling  down  the  Strand,  I  ran  against  a 
man  I  knew."  He  took  his  pipe  from  between  b* 
teeth.  "  He  was  a  man  I  had  met  on  shipboard 
Lorrison  by  name ;  a  man  who  always  sat  wrapped 
in  a  shawl,  with  a  cap  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and  a 
pile  of  books  at  his  feet.  He  was  not  the  precise 
companion  I  'd  have  chosen,  but  I  believe  I  'd  have 
shaken  hands  with  the  devil  himself  on  that  particu- 
lar day.  I  asked  him  what  he  had  in  view,  and  he 
told  me  he  was  bound  for  some  benighted  shop  in 
some  benighted  slum,  on  a  hunt  for  Merovingian 
manuscript.  "T  was  rather  Greek  to  me  ;  but  I  said 
that  if  he  did  n't  mind,  I  'd  hail  a  hansom  and  come 
along.  He  had  no  objection.  I  hailed  the  cab  and 
we  got  inside.  It  was  a  dreary  morning  and  the 
drive  was  n't  stimulating,  all  smell  and  slum  and  fog. 
I  '11  leave  the  details  out.  It 's  enough  to  say  that 
we  arrived,  left  the  hansom  in  a  thoroughfare,  and 
walked  down  a  narrow  street  —  Hang  this  pipe  ! 
It 's  actually  gone  out  At  the  left-hand  side  of  the 
street  was  a  shop.  Ah,  that 's  better."  He  struck 


THE    CIRCLE  199 

a  match,  re-lit  the  pipe,  and  drew  in  a  long  breath 
ot  smoke. 

"  The  shop  was  very  low -ceiled,  very  musty  — 
quite  romantically  musty  —  and  on  that  particular 
morning  very  dark.  As  we  entered,  I  remember, 
all  the  light  there  was  seemed  concentrated  in  a 
glass  partition  that  shut  off  a  little  desk.  Sitting 
at  the  desk  in  a  huddled-up  sort  of  way,  was 
the  oddest  figure  —  Hallo  !  What?s  that  ?  " 

"  Only  the  coin.  The  coin  slipped."  Anna  bent 
and  thrust  her  fingers  shakingly  between  the  crevices 
of  the  rocks. 

"  One  minute  !  I  H  strike  a  light !  "  He  struck 
a  fresh  match,  and  the  girl  put  up  her  hand. 

"  The  glare  hurts  your  eyes  ?  " 

«  A  little.     Please  go  on." 

"  Well,  inside  the  glass  partition,  as  I  tell  you, 
was  the  oddest  figure  I  had  ever  seen.  It  looked 
the  very  picture  of  desolation,  the  extremes  of 
loneliness  and  isolation  wrapped  in  one.  It  seemed 
to  stare  out  of  the  gloom  like  a  fact  that 's  sud- 
denly forced  home.  It 's  five  years  ago,  but  1 11 
never  forget  it ;  I  remember  it  as  plain  as  I  re- 
member yesterday."  He  waved  the  match  to  and 
fro  as  he  searched.  "  The  man  was  deformed,  but 
somehow  it  wasn't  his  deformity  —  it  was  his  atti- 
tude, his  expression,  the  air  he  breathed.  I  tell 
you,  commonplace  beggar  that  I  am,  I  felt  his 
tragedy  before  I'd  been  five  minutes  in  the  place. 
Hallo,  there 's  the  coin  !  Between  that  anemone 


200  THE    CIRCLE 

tuft  and  your  dress."  Anna  moved  stiffly,  and  he 
picked  it  up. 

"  Won't  you  take  it  ?  "     He  held  it  out. 

She  half  stretched  out  her  hand ;  then,  with  an 
unconquerable  repugnance,  drew  it  back  again. 
"  Keep  it  for  the  present ;  it  might  slip  again." 
She  spoke  slowly,  but  her  voice  was  in  excellent 
control. 

Strode  dropped  the  coin  into  his  pocket.  "  Well, 
to  go  on.  Lorrison  nodded  to  the  man,  and  asked 
after  his  master ;  but  the  fellow,  instead  of  answer- 
ing, began  to  talk  of  books.  I  put  him  down  as 
morbidly  reticent  —  then  and  there.  For  half  an 
hour  he  and  Lorrison  talked,  while  I  leant  against 
the  counter  and  just  watched.  Now  inaction  is 
very  unpleasant  to  me ;  but  I  found  that  watching 
the  most  engrossing  thing  I  'd  ever  done.  The  man 
gripped  me  —  literally  gripped  me." 

He  stopped  to  rest,  and  Anna  leant  back  against 
the  rock.  For  the  moment  she  was  entirely  numb. 
What  she  had  felt  in  any  past  hour  was  chaos  ; 
what  she  might  feel  in  any  hour  to  come  was 
blank.  She  passed  her  hand  slowly  along  the  cold- 
ness of  the  rock,  and  it  seemed  that  her  blood  was 
of  the  same  temperature.  But  it  is  an  odd  truth 
that  one  seldom  meets  the  astounding  facts  of  life 
with  any  great  display.  When  Strode's  voice 
broke  in  again,  her  nerves  scarcely  experienced  a 
jar. 

"  When  we  left  the  shop,"  he  said,  "  I  questioned 


THE    CIRCLE  201 

Lorrison,  but  his  answers  were  unsatisfying.  Dur- 
ing the  drive  west  he  talked  of  nothing  but  a  treas- 
ure he  had  secured,  and  we  parted  at  his  hotel. 
The  next  day  I  left  town  and  came  down  here." 
He  stopped ;  waited  for  a  while  in  silence ;  then 
took  up  his  story  again. 

"  It  was  two  months  before  I  saw  either  the  man 
or  the  shop  again.  Then  shipping  business  con- 
nected with  my  uncle's  mines  brought  me  back  to 
London  and  down  to  the  docks.  The  docks  re- 
minded me  of  Lorrison  and  his  curio  shop.  I  told 
you  it  lay  away  down  southeast,  did  n't  I  ?  Well, 
on  my  way  home  I  strolled  through  the  narrow  street 
and  dropped  in  on  the  rum  man.  I  talked  to  him 
for  half  an  hour,  but  I  left  with  nothing  beyond  a 
feeling  of  interest  —  and  the  coin  I  Ve  given  you 
to-night.  He  stayed  an  enigma :  very  gentle,  very 
courteous,  but  as  secretive  as  the  Sphinx."  Strode 
stopped  again,  and  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"  Well,  business  brought  me  to  the  docks  again, 
and  interest  brought  me  to  the  curio  shop.  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  know  that  man  against  his 
will :  I  made  it  a  point  of  honour  to  myself.  I 
won't  tell  you  how  many  times  I  tried  and  how 
many  I  failed.  1 11  go  right  on  to  the  night  things 
fell  out  straight.  Chance  delayed  me  in  a  man's 
office  until  six.  In  October  the  dusk  has  begun  to 
fall  at  six,  and  't  was  dark  as  I  walked  up  Felt 
Street  —  the  street  where  the  shop  stands.  The 
shutter*  had  been  put  up  and  the  place  closed  for 


202  THE    CIRCLE 

the  night,  and  precisely  as  I  passed  the  door  it 
opened  and  my  odd  friend  came  out.  I  spoke  to 
him,  and  he  shied  away  from  me  like  a  frightened 
horse  ;  then  he  saw  my  face  by  a  gas-lamp  and  a 
look  of  recognition"  crossed  his  eyes  —  a  look  that 
was  almost  a  craving  for  sympathy,  it  seemed  to  me. 
Without  his  leave  I  joined  him,  and  we  walked  down 
the  street  side  by  side.  He  led  me  by  a  hundred 
little  by-ways  and  cross-streets  down  to  the  wharves 
—  his  usual  walking-place.  And  there,  in  the  midst 
of  a  network  of  bales  and  barrels,  with  the  ships 
looming  huge  in  the  partial  dark,  the  mesh  of  masts 
and  rigging  cut  against  the  sky,  we  walked  for  two 
hours.  The  filth  of  the  town  came  to  us  mixed  with 
the  tar  of  the  sea  ;  the  fires  of  the  late  workmen 
flared  up  at  intervals  of  smoky  gloom.  The  scene 
was  weird,  but  in  the  whole  odd  medley  my  com- 
panion was  the  weirdest  object  of  all,  —  his  pale 
face  sometimes  in  shadow,  sometimes  lit  up ;  his 
deformed  body  sharp  and  plain  at  one  moment,  vague 
and  indistinct  the  next.  It  was  a  queer  experience  : 
if  I  was  interested  before,  I  was  twenty  times  more 
interested  then.  I  set  myself  to  draw  him  out  with 
all  the  persistence  I  possessed.  I  walked  with  him 
up  and  down.  I  worked  on  him,  hung  back,  urged 
him  on/1  Strode  paused.  His  tobacco-pouch  was 
held  between  his  hands.  "  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
to  get  at  the  man's  story,  Anna,  and  I  won  ! "  In 
his  voice  there  was  the  alert  tone,  the  assurance  that 
characterised  his  whole  being.  He  leant  back  and 


THE    CIRCLE  203 

looked  up  into  the  girl's  face.  But  the  night  had 
fallen  between  them  like  a  veil.  His  glance  failed 
to  reach  her,  though  his  tone  did  not. 

A  shudder  ran  through  her  to  her  feet  and  finger- 
tips. She  closed  her  eyes,  as  one  closes  them  before 
a  precipice ;  her  brain  swung  round  as  it  might  on  a 
giddy  height.  She  had  never  fainted  in  her  life,  but 
she  found  herself  wondering,  in  an  impersonal  way, 
what  the  sensation  might  be  like. 

"  And  I  won,  Anna  !     I  won  ! " 

Her  lips  formed  some  word,  she  was  uncertain 
what.  Only  an  inarticulate  sound  escaped  them. 
Then  she  bent  forward  in  sudden  fear  that  he  had 
noticed,  and  touched  his  hand. 

He  caught  her  fingers.  "  Sweetheart,  what  a  per- 
fect listener  you  make!""  She  withdrew  her  hand 
softly,  and  he  meditatively  refilled  his  pipe.  He  had 
the  air  of  a  man  who  has  settled  down  to  the  telling 
of  a  yarn.  Visions  of  night  excursions  in  the  Cana- 
dian forests,  of  lying  round  a  fire  in  the  vast  solitude 
while  men  talked  or  listened  in  the  easy  freedom  that 
the  dark  engenders,  floated  round  him  in  lazy  peace. 
"  You  are  as  good  a  comrade  as  a  man,""  he  said  at 
length.  Then  he  struck  a  match. 

Anna's  faculties  were  numbed,  but  her  fear  was 
still  astir.  The  throbbing  of  her  heart  frightened 
her  by  its  irregularity ;  the  tingling  sensation  crept 
from  her  fingers  to  her  wrists.  At  last  panic  seized 
her  and  she  sat  up.  " Maurice,"  she  said,  "I  am  so 
curious.  Please  go  on  —  straight  on  to  the  point" 


204  THE    CIRCLE 

Strode  pulled  gently  at  his  newly-lit  pipe.  **  Of 
course,"  he  said,  "  it  's  the  story  of  a  woman." 

"Why  « of  course1?" 

"Because  woman  is  the  big  jump  over  which  so 
many  of  us  get  smashed  up."  He  laughed.  "  No, 
dearest !  Seriously,  it  was  the  blankest  case  of  cal- 
lousness on  a  woman's  part,  the  hardest  breaking-up 
of  a  decent  life  that  I  Ve  met  with.  I  shaVt  tell 
the  tale  as  the  poor  beggar  told  it  me.  There  were 
too  many  halts  and  stops.  I  '11  tell  it  straight,  clean 
through,  as  you  '11  understand  it  best. 

"  It  seems  that  his  coming  to  this  shop  in  the  first 
instance  savoured  of  romance.  He  made  a  wild  story 
of  a  winter  night,  a  robbery,  and  a  pursuing  crowd, 
from  which  he  was  saved  by  the  daughter  of  the 
house  —  a  girl  of  sixteen.  The  rescue  itself  pos- 
sessed unusual  elements.  The  picture  was  so  sharply 
impressed  on  the  poor  chap's  brain  that  it  even 
roused  me  to  some  enthusiasm  at  the  time.  But 
the  enthusiasm  evaporated  very  soon.  A  woman 
who  shows  up  fine  in  a  dramatic  moment  and  can 
be  meanly  selfish  on  second  thoughts  is  hardly  rare. 
You  know  the  type  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Yes,  I  know  the  type,"  Anna  answered  dully. 
Her  eyes  were  on  the  red  circle  of  the  pipe. 

"  Well,  they  took  him  in  —  the  girl  and  her 
father,  an  eccentric  old  Russian  Jew  —  and  for  a 
bit  things  went  all  right.  Then  the  inevitable  came. 
The  life  was  lonely.  The  rescued  man  was  keenly 


THE    CIRCLE  205 

susceptible.  The  girl  had  uncommon  charm.  The  in- 
evitable came.  He  fell  desperately,  lastingly  in  love." 

Anna  put  up  her  hand  and  touched  her  forehead ; 
little  tendrils  of  hair  clung  damply  to  it ;  her  skin 
was  rigidly  cold.  "  Go  on,"  she  said  again. 

"  The  whole  thing  was  pitiful  —  pitiful  to  the  last 
degree.  The  way  he  talked  of  that  girl,  worshipped 
her,  sort  of  built  a  halo  round  her,  was  heart-rend- 
ing. I  never  saw  such  blind  devotion  to  a  human 
being.  '  She  was  like  the  sun  ! '  He  repeated  that 
over  and  over  again.  '  She  was  like  the  sun  ! '  She 
could  do  nothing  that  was  wrong." 

"  Well  ?  "     Anna  moistened  her  lips. 

"  Well,  the  end  was  the  common  one ;  you  've 
guessed  it  of  course.  The  girl  got  a  glimpse  of  life, 
and,  after  the  way  of  her  kind,  it  dazzled  her.  One 
morning  when  he  came  downstairs  she  was  gone : 
he  found  an  open  door.  Just  for  a  minute  he  saw 
nothing  else.  It  was,  as  he  said  himself,  as  if  life 
had  snapped  in  two ;  there  was  nothing  anywhere 
but  empty  space.  He  rushed  out  into  the  street ; 
then  he  stopped.  Poor  brute  !  I  can  see  him  stop. 
He  remembered  the  father  —  the  solitary  old  Russian 
who  had  lost  home  and  health  and  wife  in  the  Jew- 
ish persecutions,  and  who  was  living  in  a  sort  of 
patched-up  after-peace  among  his  books.  I  can  see 
him  stop,  as  the  thought  caught  him  ;  't  was  his  por- 
tion to  break  the  news  to  the  father." 

Strode  stopped,  and  Anna  sat  quite  still. 

"  He  stopped,  as  I  tell  you  ;  then  he  turned  and 


206  THE    CIRCLE 

walked  back  into  the  shop.  The  man  admits 
to  being  a  physical  coward  —  yet  he  turned  and 
walked  back  into  the  shop.  I  would  n't  have  been 
in  his  place  for  a  thousand  pounds.""  He  stopped 
again. 

Anna  clasped  her  hands.  With  the  agonies  of 
birth,  the  old  life,  the  old  obligations  were  goading 
themselves  into  being ;  her  breath  caught  in  her 
throat ;  the  silent  oppression  of  the  night  hung 
upon  her,  held  her,  pressed  her  down. 

"Some  men  sort  of  live  in  a  dream,"  Strode  said. 
"  This  old  Russian  had  been  living  in  a  dream.  He 
escaped  the  persecutions  with  his  reason — just 
grazed  the  narrow  line  that  turns  the  brain.  But 
on  that  morning  — "  His  pipe  had  died  low 
again  ;  he  paused  to  pull  it  to  a  glow.  "  On  that 
morning  —  " 

A  wave  of  expectancy,  sick  and  deadly,  shook 
Anna;  her  fingers  dropped  nervelessly  apart. 

''  On  that  morning  the  extra  line  was  drawn.  It 
seems  that  behind  an  indifferent  exterior  this  one 
child  was  the  light  of  his  eyes.  It  took  a  long 
time  to  make  him  understand;  when  he  did  under- 
stand —  " 

"  His  brain  gave  way."  With  sweeping  certainty 
the  words  left  Anna's  lips,  but  so  low,  so  horror- 
stricken,  that  their  intonation  was  almost  lost. 

"  Exactly.  The  shock  turned  his  brain.  He  \ 
quite  harmless,  I  believe  —  quite  like  a  child;  but 
he  11  never  see  his  shop  again,  and  he  has  forgotten 


THE    CIRCLE  207 

how  to  read.  He  sits  all  day  talking  to  his  wife 
and  child."  Strode  paused  again,  and  the  silence 
hung  palpably  on  the  air. 

Anna  did  not  move,  but  the  tension  of  her  throat 
never  relaxed.  The  necessity  of  coolness  passed  and 
repassed  through  her  mind  with  the  method  of  a 
machine,  and  she  clung  to  it  with  the  desperate 
primary  instinct  of  defence. 

"  Did  the  girl  leave  no  message  ? "  she  asked  at 
length. 

"  Oh  yes,  she  did ;  to  my  mind  that  was  her 
worst  act.  Two  days  after  she  had  gone,  when  the 
poor  beggar  I  Ve  been  telling  you  of  was  trying  to 
patch  things  together  with  the  common  remedy  of 
routine,  he  found  a  message  scrawled  on  the  shop 
slate.  There  you  have  the  real  woman  of  the  type ; 
afraid  to  strike  a  decent  final  blow,  she  threw  a 
straw  to  a  drowning  man.  That  was  eight  years 
ago.  Incredible  as  it  sounds,  that  man  is  still  cling- 
ing to  the  straw.  I  can  see  his  face  as  he  turned  in 
the  glow  of  the  fire  and  told  me  so.11 

Anna  stirred.  "  But  the  girl,  Maurice  —  the 
girl  ?  What  could  a  child  of  sixteen  know  —  or 
guess  —  or  dream  of  such  results  —  ?  I  think  you 
are  unjust. "" 

He  looked  up,  trying  to  see  her  face.  "  It  is  n't 
the  girl  of  sixteen  that  I  blame,""  he  said,  "  but  the 
girl  of  twenty  —  of  twenty-one  —  of  twenty-two. 
U1  you  mean  to  say  that  the  facts  of  life  die  out  of 
their  own  accord  ?  that  to  a  bright  gifted  woman 


208  THE    CIRCLE 

they  would  n't  come  back  again  and  again,  in  a  new 
guise,  with  a  new  force  ?  Don't  you  think  that  the 
poor  souls  she  had  deserted  would  haunt  her,  unless 
of  her  own  deliberate  will  she  shut  them  out  ?  '"  He 
laid  down  his  pipe. 

Anna's  soul  failed,  but  she  made  a  last  stand. 

"  You  only  know  the  man,  Maurice,""  she  said 
desperately.  "  You  only  think  of  the  man  ;  you  are 
a  man  yourself.  You  know  nothing  of  the  girl ; 
she  may  have  gone  under  long  ago ;  she  may  have 
died  —  " 

"  Ah,  so  I  often  thought ;  so  I  thought  till  one 
day  three  years  ago,  when,  being  in  town,  I  strolled 
into  the  shop  and  found  the  poor  beggar  there 
curiously  disturbed.  He  had  obtained  news  of  her 
after  five  years."" 

"  News  ! " 

"  Yes  —  the  oddest  news.  In  passing  by  a  win- 
dow where  photographs  are  sold  he  had  stopped 
for  a  minute,  attracted  by  the  crowd ;  and  there, 
in  the  place  of  prominence,  was  the  picture  of  a 
very  beautiful  and  distinguished  woman.  Of  course 
you  Ve  guessed.  The  woman  was  the  girl ;  but 
she  was  something  more  than  just  beautiful  — 
she  was  a  celebrity.  Who  d'you  think  she  was?" 
He  turned  again  eagerly.  "  Anna,  guess  who  she 
was?" 

Anna's  lips  were  so  dry  that  they  hardly  moved. 
"  How  should  I  know,  Maurice  ?  How  could  I 
know  ?  " 


THE    CIRCLE  209 

"  Of  course  you  could  n't ;  but  prepare  for  a  big 
surprise.  She  was  Solny  the  actress !  The  actress 
who  made  such  a  hit  in  Paris  a  couple  of  seasons 
back ;  the  woman  who 's  coming  to  London  this 
year,  and  who  's  going  to  storm  creation,  according 
to  the  people  who  know.  You  've  seen  her  abroad, 
of  course  ;  I  have  not.  But  then  I  've  lived  a  step  or 
two  behind  events ;  but  even  to  me  her  name  is  as 
familiar  as  my  own.  Does  n't  it  sound  incredible  ? 
Just  think  of  it !  Does  n't  it  sound  incredible  ?  This 
woman  on  the  right  side  of  the  world,  without  a 
wish  that  she  can't  gratify  ;  and  down  in  the  slummy 
southeast  the  old  father  dragging  out  the  worst  sort 
of  existence ;  the  man  who  cares  for  her  working 
day  after  day  in  a  musty  little  shop,  and  thinking 
that  there 's  nothing  better  in  life  than  to  pray  to 
her  as  if  she  were  a  saint.  Does  n't  it  sound  beyond 
belief?" 

Anna  put  her  fingers  over  her  ears.  "Stop, 
Maurice !  It 's  horrible."  Her  voice  shuddered 
through  the  dusk. 

"  Yes.  That 's  about  the  word.  I  Ve  never  seen 
the  woman  —  never  even  seen  her  photograph,  but 
the  thought  of  her  makes  me  sick.  A  sin  of  impulse 
one  can  forgive,  but  cool  considered  selfishness  is  a 
brand." 

"Yes.  A  brand."  Anna  slowly  reiterated  the 
words,  then  she  rose.  Her  head  felt  light ;  she 
Bested  her  shoulder  against  the  rock.  For  the  mo- 
Rent  a  great  thankfulness  for  the  dark  was  her 
14 


210  THE    CIRCLE 

prominent  thought  —  a  great  enveloping  relief  that 
her  face  could  not  be  seen. 

At  her  first  movement  Strode  turned  round ;  his 
eyes  narrowed  as  he  tried  to  trace  her  features ;  then 
he  smiled.  "  Have  I  tired  you,  dear  ?  "  The  hard- 
ness dropped  out  of  his  voice ;  he  put  out  his  hand 
and  touched  her  dress.  "  I  have  tired  you,  and  you 
are  cold.  What  a  brute  I  Ve  been  ! "  He  rose  as 
well  and  took  her  hand.  "  Kiss  me,  and  we  '11  forget 
it  all.  Here's  your  little  coin."  He  felt  in  his 
pocket,  then  held  out  his  hand. 

For  a  minute  Anna  peered  through  the  gloom ; 
then  the  wave  of  repulsion  swept  over  her  again, 
and  she  pushed  his  hand  aside.  "No,"  she  said 
suddenly,  "  it 's  ill-omened,  ill-fated,  Maurice.  Take 
it  away ! " 

Very  quietly  he  slipped  the  coin  back.  "  Forgive 
me,  dear,  for  telling  such  a  tale  in  such  a  place." 
With  great  gentleness  he  moved  forward  and  took 
her  in  his  arms.  "  Poor  little  girl ! "  he  said.  "  Poor 
little  girl !  What  inconsiderate  beasts  men  are  ! " 

Overhead  the  warm  darkness  had  massed  to  clouds ; 
their  faces  were  pale  outlines  to  each  other's  eyes. 
For  a  space  Anna  remained  motionless,  her  shoulder 
resting  against  his  arm,  her  head  thrown  back ;  then 
suddenly  she  stirred  and  clung  to  him. 

"  Maurice,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  exactly  what  I 
seem  to  you  —  exactly.  We  Ve  been  wandering  in 
such  a  wilderness :  I  want  to  feel  love  again." 

Strode  held  her  to  him  for  an  instant.     "  You 


THE    CIRCLE  211 

seem  the  best  and  the  loveliest  woman  God  ever 
made,"  he  said.  "  The  very  loveliest  —  and  the 
very  best."" 

She  closed  her  eyes.     "  Ah,"  she  said  lingeringly, 
"  that  was  very  sweet.     Now  let  us  go  home." 


PART     TWO— CHAPTER    XI 


Y          ~^HE  hall  of  the  Cottage  was  dimly  lighted 

when  they  returned.     The  shadow  of  a 

smile  wavered  across  Anna's  lips  as  she 

^          realised  the  circumstance.     Fate  is  never 

without   its    oddly  ironic   compensations.     At   the 

door  of  the  drawing-room  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  '11  say  good-bye  here,  Maurice.  Doctor  Pen- 
rhyn's  storm  is  in  the  air.  I  must  bathe  my  head 
before  dinner ;  it  aches  badly.1" 

"  Poor  little  girl !  "  Strode  raised  her  face  and 
looked  into  it.  "  I  don't  quite  believe  all  that ;  it 's 
my  wretched  story  that 's  got  clean  on  your  nerves." 

She  tried  to  smile.  "  We  '11  call  it  nerves  ;  nerves 
is  such  a  useful  word.  But  don't  worry,  1 11  be  all 
right  once  the  storm  breaks.  Say  good-night  for 
me  to  Doctor  Penrhyn." 

"  It 's  hard  to  let  you  go." 

"  It 's  harder  to  go."     Her  voice  sounded  tired. 

He  passed  his  fingers  over  her  hair.  "  I  feel  a 
brute  to  keep  you  here,  yet  I  can't  say  go.  When 
shall  I  see  you  to-morrow?" 

"  Oh,  any  time ;  after  breakfast  —  any  time. 
Good-night !  "  She  touched  his  hand  remindingly. 

"  You  '11  be  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 


THE    CIRCLE  213 

.^  She  drew  away  from  him  suddenly  and 
walked  down  the  corridor.  At  the  door  of  her  bed- 
room she  paused  and  looked  back.  He  had  moved 
a  step  or  two  in  her  direction,  and  was  standing 
directly  under  the  hanging  lamp ;  the  light,  falling 
on  his  smooth  hair,  turned  it  fair.  She  drew  a  quick 
breath,  then  turned  and  ran  back  to  him. 

"  Maurice  !  "  she  said.     "  Maurice !  " 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  closely. 
"  Dearest !  What  is  it,  little  one  ?  " 
.  She  clung  to  him  silently.  The  stillness  of  the 
night  and  its  oppression  seemed  to  brood  over  the 
house.  Her  hands  clasped  his  shoulders,  her  heart 
beat  unsteadily.  "  Maurice,  I  care  for  you  more 
than  you  guess  or  dream  —  I  love  you  very  much."" 
The  pressure  of  her  fingers  tightened  ;  then  with  a 
little  shiver  she  drew  away  and  looked  nervously 
round.  A  blue  flash  glimmered  and  brushed  her 
eyes  ;  almost  simultaneously  the  first  peal  of  thunder 
rolled  across  the  sky. 

She  laughed  unsteadily,  and  Strode  drew  her  close 
to  him  again. 

"  Afraid  ?  " 

"  Not  afraid;  but  it  jars  one  through  and  through. 
Can't  you  feel  it  jar  ?  It  seems  to  have  such  scope  — 
out  here  by  the  sea.  Maurice,  say  that  you  care  for 
me  — just  once  more." 

Another  faint  flash  crossed  the  hall ;  as  Strode 
bent  to  reply,  a  second  peal,  more  sombre  than  the 
first,  broke  above  their  heads. 


214  THE    CIRCLE 

For  an  instant  their  lips  held  each  other,  then 
Anna  pushed  him  away.  "  You  must  get  home," 
she  said  quickly ;  "  you  must  get  home  before  the 
rain  breaks.  Good-night!  Think  always  —  always, 
Maurice,  that  I  love  you  a  million  times  more  than 
myself.  If  I  seem  strange  to-night  it 's  the  electricity 
in  the  air.  Good- night ! "  Her  voice  broke  off  short ; 
she  freed  herself,  and  ran  down  the  corridor. 

Strode  moved  forward.  "  Anna ! "  he  called  softly. 
But  the  only  answer  that  came  to  him  was  the  sharp 
closing  of  a  door,  and  the  turning  of  a  key  in  a  lock. 
He  waited  for  a  minute  uncertainly,  then  with  a 
movement  of  puzzled  disappointment  he  turned  and 
walked  back  to  the  drawing-room  door. 

The  dinner-gong  had  sounded  through  the  house. 
Mrs.  Maxtead,  waiting  in  the  dining-room,  looked 
about  her  uneasily,  then  glanced  at  her  watch.  The 
French  windows  were  closed,  and  the  air  in  the  room 
was  stifling.  She  rose,  walked  to  the  window,  then 
back  to  the  table,  lastly  out  into  the  hall.  The  cor- 
ridor was  dim  ;  she  traversed  it  hastily  and  stopped 
at  Anna's  door.  There  she  knocked. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "     The  answer  came  after  a  pause. 

"  I  — Jeanne.     Won't  you  have  any  dinner  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  need  dinner,  thanks  ;  I  '11  have  some  teK 
later.  My  head  aches.1* 

There  was  silence ;  then  the  thunder  crackled 
across  the  sky.  Mrs.  Maxtead  knocked  again 
hastily. 


THE    CIRCLE  215 

"  Let  me  in.  Maurice  and  Doctor  Penrhyn  have 
gone ;  it 's  uncanny  getting  through  this  storm 
alone." 

There  was  a  faint  movement  inside  the  room,  then 
the  sound  of  a  key  being  turned.  Mrs.  Maxtead's 
hand  was  on  the  handle,  she  turned  it  instantly ; 
then,  immediately  the  door  yielded,  she  drew  back. 
"  Good  heavens,  child  ! " 

The  room  was  dark,  except  for  the  occasional  flashes 
that  spun  across  it  from  the  open  window ;  the  cur- 
tains were  drawn  back,  and  beyond  the  lawn  and 
cliff  the  oily  sea  and  rent  sky  were  plainly  to  be 
seen  in  the  intervals  of  weird  light.  Both  inside 
and  out  the  excessive  warmth  hung  pulselessly  on 
the  air. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  forward.  "  This  is  like  the 
*  Inferno,1  "  she  said,  "  only  more  gruesome.  Where 
do  you  keep  your  matches  ?  I  can't  go  another 
second  without  a  light." 

"  On  the  dressing-table."  Anna  had  returned  to 
the  window  and  stood  looking  out.  Another  twist 
of  light  shot  though  the  room. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  walked  to  the  table  and  picked  up 
the  matches.  "  You  're  perfectly  abominable,""  she 
began  ;  but  her  words  were  drowned  in  a  sweep  of 
sound.  "  Anna  !  Shut  that  window  and  draw  the 
curtains."  She  lighted  the  candles  hastily,  then 
walked  across  to  the  girl  and  caught  her  hand. 

She  drew  her  into  the  centre  of  the  room ;  but 
there  she  paused.  "  Why,  my  dear  child ! "  she  said. 


216  THE    CIRCLE 

"  My  dear  child  ! "  She  turned  swiftly  to  the  mantel- 
piece and  rang  the  bell ;  then  she  walked  to  the 
window,  let  down  the  blind  and  drew  the  curtains. 
As  the  maid  entered,  she  turned  round. 

"  Bring  some  coffee  and  my  box  of  cigarettes.  We 
shaVt  dine  to-night."  She  turned  to  Anna  as  the 
girl  withdrew.  "  Now,  you  Ve  got  to  rise  above  this 
storm.  You  Ve  been  frightening  yourself  to  death  ; 
your  eyes  are  absolutely  scared."" 

Anna  pushed  the  hair  from  her  forehead ;  her  face 
was  very  white,  and  there  were  black  circles  under 
her  eves. 

•/ 

"  You  Ve  been  looking  out  of  that  window  for 
half  an  hour."" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Anna ! " 

The  girl  moved  to  the  dressing-table.  There  was 
a  rigidity  in  her  actions  that  was  new.  Her  com- 
panion's eyes  took  on  their  critical  look. 

"  Anna,"  she  said,  "  is  it  really  the  storm  at  all  ? 
I  have  a  lingering  feeling  that  it 's  not." 

Anna  stood  very  still.  "  No,  Jeanne,  it 's  not 
storm." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  sat  down  quietly.  "  You  Ve  told 
Maurice,"  she  said  directly,  "and  Maurice  hasn't 
taken  it  well." 

Anna  shivered  in  spite  of  the  heat.  "  Oh  no,  I 
haven't  told  him." 

"  Then  what  is  it  ?  I  rather  feel  as  if  I  'd  dropped 
a  link.  Oh,  how  detestable  that  noise  is  ! " 


THE    CIRCLE  217 

The  thunder  shook  the  house. 

"  I  like  it.""  Anna  raised  her  head.  "  It  seems 
to  say  all  the  things  that  I  am  afraid  to  say." 

"Anna,  Maurice  is  the  straightest  person  I 
know." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  Jeanne  —  I  know."  The  girl 
crossed  the  room,  pausing  beside  the  bed.  "  You  Ye 
very  good  to  me,  but  can't  you  see  that  there  are 
times  when  the  best,  the  cleverest,  the  nicest  woman 
in  the  world  is  of  no  use  —  no  use  at  all.  When 
one  has  to  build  up  a  wall  and  creep  inside  it  till 
one  can  dare  to  creep  out  again."  She  stopped. 

Her  companion  looked  up.  "  It 's  a  trying 
night,"  she  said  quietly ;  "  a  cigarette  and  a  cup 
of  coffee  —  " 

Anna  laughed  suddenly.  "  A  cigarette  and  a  cup 
of  coffee !  How  that  bounds  everything  for  you ! 
Have  you  never  felt  your  throat  dry,  and  your 
tongue  parched,  and  your  brain  icy  cold  ?  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  ignored  the  words.  "That  last 
peal  sounded  farther  off,"  she  said.  "  If  only  it 
was  n't  so  deadly  hot,  one  might  manage  to  brace 
up." 

The  maid  entered  with  the  coffee ;  she  looked  pale 
and  upset.  Her  mistress  glanced  at  her.  "  You  can 
go  to  bed,"  she  said. 

The  air  stifled.  Anna  walked  to  the  window,  then 
back  to  the  bed.  A  fresh  burst  of  thunder  clattered 
overhead. 

*'  How  abominably  near !  "      A  cigarette  slipped 


218  THE    CIRCLE 

from  Mrs.  MaxteacTs  hand.  "  Thunder  to  a  woman 
is  like  a  bogie  to  a  child  —  it  suggests  the  horrible 
potency  of  the  unseen.""  She  picked  up  the  cigar- 
ette and  held  it  to  a  candle  flame.  "  Anna,  do  you 
think  you  could  possibly  sit  still  ?  " 

Anna  looked  round.  "  No.  1 11  sit  still  for  all 
the  rest  of  my  life,  if  you  like,  but  not  to-night.  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  been  immovable  for  hours  and  hours 
and  hours." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  round  sharply.  "  Stop  !  "  she 
said.  "  Did  you  hear  that  ?  " 

They  both  stayed  motionless  for  a  second ;  then 
they  each  drew  breath.  The  sky  seemed  to  tear 
asunder,  then  tumble  headlong  to  the  earth  in  a 
torrent  of  sound. 

"  The  rain  !  " 

"  The  rain  at  last ! "  Mrs.  Maxtead  walked  to 
the  window  and  held  back  the  blind.  The  water 
was  falling  in  a  sheet  across  the  lawn ;  the  light- 
ning played  fitfully  at  the  horizon ;  but  already 
the  note  of  the  thunder  was  lowered,  and  a  breath 
of  cooler  air  came  from  the  sea. 

Anna  walked  to  the  window  as  well. 

"  Jeanne,  I  have  a  favour  to  ask." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  raised  her  brows. 

'*  I  *ve  been  wanting  to  ask  it  ever  since  you 
came,  but,  somehow,  it  wouldn't  get  said."  She 
paused  and  caught  her  breath.  "  Take  me  back 
to  town  to-morrow,  Jeanne,  instead  of  Thursday. 
I  don't  want  to  stay  here  another  day."  The 


THE    CIRCLE  219 

words    were    low    and    rapid,    her    voice    sounded 
strained. 

Mrs.  MaxteaxTs  lips  parted;  she  turned  hastily. 
"  To-morrow  !  But,  my  dear  child  —  "  Then  she 
stopped.  "Very  well.  To-morrow  at  any  hour 
you  like."  She  let  the  blind  drop. 


PART     TWO— CHAPTER     XII 

STRODE  sat  in  his  study.     The  windows  were 
wide   open,   and   the   cool   breeze   blew   in 
refreshingly   from    the   sea ;  the    rain   had 
ceased  as  abruptly  as  it  began,  and  except 
for  an  occasional  distant  growl,  the  thunder  had  died 
away.     On   the  desk  before  him   was   an  array  of 
papers,  but  his  hands  rested  on  them  idly,  and  his 
eyes  had  an  abstracted  look  ;  it  was   only  when  a 
knock   fell  cautiously  on  the  door,  and  an  instant 
later   the    door  itself  opened,  that  his  glance  con- 
centrated to  life. 

The  old  servant  who  had  been  his  father's  valet 
entered  deprecatingly.  "  Sorry  to  disturb  you,  sir, 
but  there  ""s  a  lady  to  see  you."" 

"  A  lady,  Straker  ?  "  Strode  unconsciously  glanced 
at  the  clock. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Shall  I  ask  her  to  step  in  here,  sir,  or 
to  wait  in  the  drawing-room  ? "" 

"  In  here."  Strode  rose  and  pushed  his  papers 
aside.  "  Never  mind,  Straker  ;  on  second  thoughts, 
I  '11  see  to  it  myself/' 

The  old  man  stepped  aside,  and  Strode  walked 
quickly  into  the  hall.  His  manner  under  unusual 
circumstances  was  always  calm ;  whatever  surprise 


THE    CIRCLE  221 

there  may  have  been  in  his  mind,  there  was  none  in 
his  face,  as  he  recognised  the  figure  standing  by  the 
drawing-room  door. 

"  Anna !  "     He  held  out  his  hand. 

She  touched  it  nervously  with  her  fingers  and 
looked  up.  "  You  are  not  angry  ?  " 

"  Angry !  "  He  laughed.  "  You  are  you.  Can 
I  say  more  than  that  ?  Come  into  the  study ;  it 's 
almost  cool  there.11 

They  crossed  the  hall  quietly,  but  once  inside  the 
room  Strode  closed  the  door,  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and  kissed  her. 

"  That  ""s  to  show  that  with  us  love  comes  first, 
always,  in  every  emergency.  Now,  tell  me  what 
under  heaven  has  made  you  come  out  on  such  a 
night  —  to  say  nothing  of  breaking  all  the  conven- 
tionalities ?  You  look  like  a  ghost.""  He  opened  her 
cloak  gently  and  took  it  off.  Her  light  dress  clung 
limp  with  the  dampness  of  the  air ;  the  roses,  still 
at  her  belt,  were  dead.  He  took  them  out  and  laid 
them  on  the  table.  "  Nothing  sordid  was  meant  to 
touch  you,"  he  said.  "You  are  too  radiant  for 
death  —  in  any  form." 

She  raised  her  eyes  with  a  faint  smile.  "  A 
radiant  ghost,  Maurice  ?  What  an  anomaly  !  " 

He  drew  her  towards  a  chair.  "Now  sit  down, 
and  when  you  are  quite  ready  tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pened, but  not  till  you  are  quite  ready."  He  moved 
back  considerately  to  the  arrangement  of  his  papers, 
and  Anna  sat  down. 


222  THE    CIRCLE 

"  It  is  very  late.""     She  looked  at  the  clock. 

"  Only  twelve." 

"  How  long  may  I  stay  ?  " 

**  Fifteen  minutes ;  1 11  take  you  back  then.  Whe 
knows  that  you  came  ? " 

"  No  one.     I  slipped  away."" 

"  Good !  Penrhyn  drove  off  half  an  hour  ago> 
and  Straker  is  as  discreet  as  the  grave.  So  your  sin 
won't  find  you  out." 

She  looked  up  suddenly.  "  You  don't  think  it 
hateful  of  me  to  have  come  ?  " 

Strode's  fingers  were  busy ;  when  he  answered,  his 
voice  came  rather  low.  "If  I  were  to  be  honest, 
Anna,  I  'd  say  that  I  Ve  seldom  felt  quite  so  proud. 
It's  your  first  admission  of  reliance."  He  stopped. 

She  rose  suddenly  and  stood  behind  him.  "  We 
are  leaving  to-morrow,  Maurice ;  we  go  to  town  by 
the  first  train." 

He  turned  with  a  jerk.  "  What  do  you  say  ? 
To-morrow  ?  " 

She  gazed  fixedly  at  the  desk.  "  Jeanne  has  busi- 
ness that  can't  wait." 

The  perplexity  left  his  eyes  and  he  smiled. 
"  Quite  absurd,  my  dear  child  !  I  saw  Mrs.  Max- 
tead  at  eight ;  she  never  said  a  word  of  such  a 
thing." 

M  She  did  n't  know  at  eight." 

"  Ob,  a  telegram  ?  " 

Anna  bent  her  head. 

Strode  smoothed  his  hair.     "That's  very  hate- 


THE    CIRCLE  223 

ful,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  very  hateful.  But  you 
must  cheer  up !  You  must  cheer  up !  It  is  n't 
so  bad,  after  all."  He  looked  at  her  and  smiled. 
"  You  '11  lose  the  poppies  and  the  sea  for  a  bit ;  but 
you  '11  still  have  me.  You  don't  think  I  *m  going 
to  be  left  behind  ?  "  He  smoothed  his  hair  afresh 
and  laughed  reassuringly.  "  I  was  looking  into 
things,  as  you  came  in ;  I  find  I  can  be  spared  from 
here.  I  '11  be  in  town  a  day  or  two  after  you." 

Anna's  head  remained  bent.  He  put  out  his 
hand  and  touched  her  arm.  "  Dearest,  we  '11  have  a 
jolly  time  in  town  ?  " 

She  raised  her  head  with  an  effort.  "  You  know 
it  was  n't  to  say  silly  things  that  I  came." 

"  T  was  never  to  tell  me  the  famous  secret  ? 
That  secret  that  you  did  me  out  of  on  the  cliff." 
He  laughed  again  with  an  eager  attempt  to  amuse 
her;  then  suddenly  his  face  clouded  over,  and  he 
caught  both  her  hands.  "  Anna,"  he  said  in  a 
different  voice,  "  what 's  the  matter  with  you  to- 
night?" 

She  met  his  eyes  steadily.  She  had  braced  herself 
to  the  ordeal  as  she  crossed  the  cliff.  "  I  'm  not 
well,  that's  all.  Heaps  of  women  would  be  limp 
after  such  a  storm." 

"  Poor  little  girl !  Sit  down  again  and  let  me 
take  care  of  you  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It 's  easier  to  talk  stand- 
ing. I  must  say  what  I  came  to  say." 

He  made  a  resigned  gesture. 


224  THE    CIRCLE 

"  It  is  n't  very  easy  to  say,  Maurice." 

His  eyes  narrowed.  "  It  is  n't  that  you  think 
you  've  ceased  to  care,  or  —  or  any  rubbish  of  that 
sort  ?  " 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  No  ;  it  is  n't  rubbish  of  that 
sort." 

"  Then  what  else  counts  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  and  a  lot  of  things." 

"Let's  have  it  out." 

Her  lips  parted  twice  before  she  spoke  ;  then  she 
straightened  herself.  "  I  have  thought  about  your 
coming  to  town,  Maurice ;  I  've  thought  that  you 
would  want  to  come  ;  and  I  came  to-night  to  tell  you 
that  you  must  n't,  that  you  must  stay  here  —  that 
you  must  promise  me  to  stay  here."  She  freed  her 
hands  and  clasped  them  tightly  behind  her  back. 

Strode  stared  at  her  in  silence. 

"  It  was  to  say  that  that  I  came.  I  did  n't  want 
to  go  without  seeing  you  ;  I  did  n't  want  to  put  it  in 
a  letter,  I  know  it  sounds  irrational,  but  women 
are  full  of  whims." 

He  still  stared  incredulously.  "  What  exactly 
does  it  mean  ?  I  suppose  I  have  some  right  to 
ask." 

"  Maurice ! " 

He  turned  and  walked  to  the  open  window. 

"  Maurice,  you  are  angry  ?  " 

"  Not  angry." 

"  Hurt  ?  " 

"  Possibly  ;  I  don't  quite  know." 


THE    CIRCLE  225 

She  stood  for  a  second  uncertainly  in  the  centre  of 
the  room  ;  then  she  crossed  to  where  he  stood. 

"  Maurice,  you  know  that  I  care  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  that  /  care  for  you."  He  looked  steadily 
out  into  the  darkness. 

"  Maurice,  I  count  you  the  most  generous  person 
I  know.  You  know  nothing  about  me,  and  you  have 
never  asked  anything.  You  have  taken  me  all  on 
trust.  Few  men  would  do  that." 

He  remained  motionless.  "  You  are  Mrs.  Max- 
tead's  cousin  ;  you  live  with  her.  What  was  there 
to  ask?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  That  does  n't  fill  every- 
thing. We  each  have  some  personal  thing  to  make 
life  difficult  ;  each  our  own  responsibilities,  as  I  told 
you  this  morning.  In  these  three  weeks  I  have  been 
forgetting  mine,  and  to-night  they  have  wakened  me 
up."  She  paused. 

He  turned  swiftly.  "  Then  this  business  is  yours, 
not  Mrs.  Maxtead's  ?  " 

She  looked  away.  "  Hers  and  mine.  Our  affairs 
are  one." 

"  And  you  are  in  trouble  ?  "  With  an  abrupt 
gesture  he  put  out  his  hand.  "What  a  jealous 
inconsiderate  savage  I  have  been !  " 

She  laid  her  cold  fingers  in  his  and  smiled. 
"  Thank  you,  Maurice.  Just  for  a  minute  I  feared 
—  and  —  and  I  could  n't  have  fought  a  battle  to- 
night. I  feel  so  tired." 

Without  a  word  he  passed  his  arm  round  her  and 
15 


226  THE    CIRCLE 

drew  her  back  to  the  desk.  "  There  will  be  no 
battles  for  you  while  I  am  here  to  fight  them. 
Whatever  this  thing  is  that  has  risen  up  to  bother 
you,  it  must  be  left  to  me  —  to  me,  you  understand."" 

She  touched  her  lips  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
slowly  gathered  up  her  strength.  "  After  this, 
Maurice,""  she  corrected  gently,  '"after  this,  things 
will  be  left  to  you  ;  but  in  this  one  case  I  must 
act  for  myself.  I  'm  afraid  there 's  no  drawing 
back." 

"  Which  implies  —  ?  "     He  searched  her  face. 

Her  lips  were  cold,  but  she  met  his  gaze  staunchly. 
"  Which  implies,  Maurice,  that  something  has  hap- 
pened that  I  never  counted  on,  never  looked  for ; 
something  that  involves  other  people  besides  myself. 
And  I  want  you  to  give  me  the  greatest  help  it 's  in 
your  power  to  give ;  I  want  you  to  let  me  think  of 
you  here  —  away  from  the  hateful  harassing  world 
—  thinking  of  me  and  believing  in  me,  till  I  can 
send  for  you.  You  know  that  1 11  send  the  first 
moment  that  I  can  ?  " 

"My  dear  child,  the  harassing  world  is  a  man's 
place."' 

"  The  finer  of  him  to  relinquish  it  for  a  little." 

Strode's  eyes  were  puzzled  and  perplexed.  "  Wo- 
men are  incomprehensible ! "  he  said  at  last.  "  First 
a  mysterious  secret,  now  a  mysterious  mission ;  it 
sounds  like  the  last  century.  How  many  days  will 
this  thing  take,  provided  I  do  consent?" 

**  Four  weeks  from  to-day." 


THE    CIRCLE  227 

He  took  a  step  backward.  "  Weeks !  Do  you 
know  what  you  are  saying  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  ;  to  an  hour."1 

"  But  a  month  —  a  whole  month !  What  does  it 
mean  ?  What  under  heaven  am  I  to  do  with  myself 
for  a  month  ?  "  He  looked  blank. 

"As  you  have  done  every  other  year.  Sail  and 
fish  and  read."  She  stopped,  checked  by  the  look  in 
his  eyes. 

He  came  quite  close  to  her  and  took  her  hands. 
"  That  is  a  very  easy  programme  to  make  out,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  you  don't  know  what  you  say.  Sailing 
and  fishing  are  poor  sport  when  one  has  tried  love. 
You  can  tell  me  to  stay  away  from  you,  but  you 
can't  do  more  than  tell." 

Her  fingers  showed  white  against  his  ;  she  looked 
unsteadily  round  the  room,  then  slowly,  reluctantly, 
her  glance  returned  to  his. 

"Maurice,  you  said  to-night  that  you  were 
proud  of  my  relying  on  you.  Have  I  relied  too 
much  ?  " 

His  hand  tightened  on  hers,  then  relaxed ;  he 
dropped  her  fingers  and  turned  again  to  the 
window. 

There  was  a  long  wait.  Anna  made  no  movement, 
but  her  face  looked  very  tired. 

At  last  Strode  spoke  without  looking  round. 
"  Man  makes  a  poor  sort  of  lover,  after  all,  Anna ; 
he  needs  a  lot  of  reminding." 

She  took  a  step  forward.     "  Maurice?  " 


228  THE    CIRCLE 

He  was  silent. 

*  Maurice  ?  " 

He  wheeled  round  and  looked  at  her.  "  Have  n't 
you  known  all  along  that  a  saint  would  give  you  any- 
thing you  asked,  if  you  only  put  it  to  him  straight  ? 
I  don't  know  what  you  want  to  do  ;  but  I  trust  you 
like  mysel£  Of  course  I  '11  wait." 


PART  TWO  — CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  MAXTEAD  paused  with  her  fin- 
gers  on   the  handle  of  Annans   door. 
Eight  days  had  passed  since  the  night 
of  the  storm  at  Trescar,  and  she  was 
once  more  in  her  town  house.     Her  fingers  moved 
restlessly  for  a  second,  then  the  handle  turned,  the 
door  yielded,  and  she  entered  the  room.     A  light  air 
came  through  the  window;  the  sun   danced   gaily 
from  the  mirrors  to  the  floor.     She  turned  directly 
towards  the  bed. 

"  I  have  been  awake  all  night,"  she  said,  "  like  a 
girl  after  her  first  dance.  The  stage  and  the  audi- 
ence and  you  kept  whizzing  through  my  brain  like 
a  wheeL  It  was  a  superb  success !  Superb !  How 
do  you  feel  ?  " 

Anna  was  sitting  up  in  bed;  she  looked  fragile 
and  tired ;  her  face,  in  contrast  to  her  red  hair, 
seemed  as  white  as  her  wrapper  or  the  pillows  that 
propped  her  up.  On  a  table  by  her  side  was  a  tray 
with  a  barely  tasted  breakfast ;  and  spread  over  the 
coverlet,  in  a  disorder  of  open  pages,  were  half-a- 
dozen  newspapers.  She  put  out  her  hand  languidly. 
"Yes,  Jeanne;  I  suppose  they  have  accepted 
me." 


234)  THE    CIRCLE 

Mrs.  MaxteacTs  eyes  sparkled.  "  Accepted  ?  What 
a  word !  They  have  gone  mad ;  it 's  the  seal  on 
your  success.  You  were  magnificent.  I  have  never 
seen  anything  so  fine.  You  have  more  grit  than  I 
ever  thought." 

Anna  was  silent ;  then  she  smiled  very  faintly  and 
looked  up.  "  I  think  it 's  you  who  have  the  grit, 
Jeanne.  Do  you  think  I  ha  vent  seen  —  all  this 
terrible  week  ?  Seen  you  watching  me,  seen  the 
doubt  in  your  mind,  though  you  never  asked  a 
question,  never  hinted  by  a  word  that  I  was  not  — 
not  quite  the  same?  I  am  not  so  dense.11  Her 
voice  was  very  low. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  began  folding  and  sorting  the 
papers.  "  It  has  been  the  most  awful  week  of  my 
life.  There  were  times  —  but  that  does  n't  count 
now.  Last  night  compensated  for  everything.  Last 
night  was  like  the  lifting  of  a  coffin-lid  to  a  man 
who  is  buried  alive.  I  don't  believe  I  stirred  a 
hairVbreadth  during  the  whole  first  act." 

Anna  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I  knew  last  night 
would  be  all  right.  It  was  the  waiting  for  last 
night ;  it  was  the  reception  —  your  reception  on 
Thursday."  She  shivered  and  closed  her  eyes.  "  I 
shall  never  forget  that  reception,  Jeanne,  never  — 
never.  The  coldness  of  my  hands  and  feet ;  the  feel- 
ing of  being  outside  myself ;  the  crowds  and  crowds 
of  faces  —  all  inquisitive,  all  on  tiptoe  as  it  were,  all 
blankly,  candidly  disappointed.  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  It  was  a  nightmare."  She  covered  her  face. 


THE    CIRCLE  231 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  silent  for  a  moment,  her  fingers 
stirring  and  rustling  amongst  the  papers;  at  last 
her  eyelids  drooped. 

"  We  won't  talk  about  the  reception,"  she  said 
shortly,  "it's  burned  into  mv  brain.  But  there  is 
something  that  I  want  to  say."  She  paused,  then 
went  on  again.  "  Ever  since  we  left  Trescar  I  have 
thought  of  nobody  but  you ;  I  have  shown  more 
patience  than  I  ever  dreamt  I  possessed ;  I  have  been 
inhuman  —  nothing  less.  Now  that  the  ordeal  of 
the  first  night  is  over,  the  actual  crisis  got  through, 
I  want  you  to  consider  me  a  little  —  to  consider 
what  it  costs  a  woman  to  be  silent  for  eight  days. 
You  talk  of  nightmares  ;  every  nightmare  must  have 
a  cause.  Tell  me  frankly  what  happened  at  Trescar 
the  night  before  we  left  ?  Till  that  night  you  were 
perfectly  happy,  I  never  saw  you  so  buoyant,  so  full 
of  life;  then  all  in  an  hour  everything  collapsed. 
Since  then  you  have  been  the  mere  shadow  of  your- 
self;  you  go  about  with  your  eyes  open,  seeing 
nothing ;  you  are  interested  in  nothing ;  you  scarcely 
hear  when  you  are  spoken  to.  Except  for  last 
night,  you  have  been  living  in  a  trance.  For 
heaven's  sake,  rouse  yourself!  Shake  it  off!1*  She 
touched  the  girl's  arm. 

Anna  moved  languidly  and  turned  her  face  away. 

"Anna,  you  rose  above  it  last  night.  Rise  above 
it  now." 

Anna  smiled  a  little.  "  Ah,  that  was  the  dramatic 
situation.  I  am  not  to  be  praised  for  that  It  is 


232  THE    CIRCLE 

in  ray  blood,  I  suppose ;  I  act  as  a  dog  hunts  —  by 
instinct."  She  moved  her  face  restlessly  against  the 
pillows. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  still  held  her  arm.  "It  is  not  a 
quarrel  between  you  and  Maurice ;  I  know  that. 
With  your  temperaments  you  would  have  made  it 
up  in  twelve  hours ;  it  is  something  more  lasting 
than  a  quarrel.  Can't  you  confide  in  me?" 

Anna  drew  her  arm  away.  "  I  can't ;  I  have  n't 
put  it  to  myself  as  yet."  She  pushed  back  her  hair 
with  her  habitual  gesture.  "  At  present  I  am  an 
automaton ;  I  know  that  I  have  to  play  every  night 
for  three  weeks  —  and  play  well.  After  the  three 
weeks  — " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  nearer  by  a  step.  "  After 
the  three  weeks  there  is  your  big  rest,  your  six 
months'  rest ;  then  the  contract  with  Polotski  —  if 
you  consent,  and  the  terms  tempt  us.  After  last 
night  we  should  control  the  market.  But  first  the 
rest ;  I  am  set  on  that  now  more  than  ever.  We 
must  burn  back  the  colour  into  this."  She  touched 
the  girl's  cheek.  "  You  know  the  proverb  of  the 
willing  horse." 

Anna  smiled  again  wearily. 

"  Come,  you  '11  enjoy  the  rest  ?  " 

The  girl  stared  straight  before  her. 

"Weeks  and  weeks  of  no  responsibility  —  no 
study  —  no  rehearsals." 

Anna's  eyelids  quivered,  otherwise  she  was  abso- 
lutely still. 


THE    CIRCLE  233 

Mrs.  Maxtead  watched  her  warily,  then  slowly 
drew  herself  upright.  "  My  dear  Anna,""  she  said 
sharply,  "  this  is  intolerable.  It 's  wicked  !  It 's  a 


crime 


A  slight  flush  spread  across  Anna's  cheek,  but  she 
made  no  reply. 

Her  companion  waited  for  none.  She  was  stand- 
ing very  straight,  and  her  fingers  mechanically 
twisted  her  wedding-ring  round  and  round.  "I 
have  been  too  lenient,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  now  exactly  what  I  think.  I  think  you 
are  defying  Fate  —  hitting  your  head  against  a 
stone  wall.  You  are  the  luckiest  girl  I  know  — 
or  have  ever  known.  The  nicest  man  on  earth 
worships  you.  Only  the  other  night  all  London 
—  the  London  that 's  worth  knowing  —  crowded 
here  to  meet  you ;  not  six  invitations  were  re- 
fused. And  last  night  you  crowned  your  whole 
career ;  yet  you  lie  there,  dead  and  cold  and  dumb, 
wrapped  inside  yourself — impossible — unreachable." 

Anna  covered  her  face  again. 

"  You  must  wake  up !  You  must  realise !  In 
every  crisis  in  existence,  as  I  have  told  you  again 
and  again,  there  is  the  need  of  action.  You  must 
act !  Do  you  hear  ?  You  must  act ! " 

Anna  cowered  back  into  the  pillows. 

"  You  are  losing  your  hold  on  things.  Any  day 
Maurice  may  discover  who  you  are.  I  told  you  long 
ago  the  necessity  of  telling  him  yourself.  Any  day 
he  may  see  a  picture  of  you.  I  know  the  illustrated 


234  THE    CIRCLE 

papers  do  not  get  to  Trescar ;  I  know  Maurice  cares 
nothing  for  them ;  still  —  still,  one  can  never  tell. 
There  are  no  hermitages  nowadays."" 

Anna's  fingers  parted  limply.  "  Sometimes,  Jeanne, 
I  wish  that  Maurice  would  find  out.  It  would  sim- 
plify a  lot  of  things.11 

Mrs.  Maxtead  made  no  comment,  but  she  ceased 
to  twist  her  ring. 

"  Anna,"  she  said  softly,  "  you  have  not,  by  any 
chance,  heard  from  your  own  people?"  Her  voice 
was  very  low,  but  as  keen  as  a  needle-point. 

A  flood  of  colour  suffused  the  giiTs  face,  then  died 
painfully  away.  Her  eyelids  opened  slowly  and  she 
looked  up.  "  No,  Jeanne,  on  my  word  of  honour ! " 
Her  lashes  drooped  again. 

For  a  while  Mrs.  Maxtead  stayed  motionless.  Then 
she  walked  across  the  room.  There  was  an  unwonted 
shadow  in  her  eyes,  a  perplexed  line  between  her 
brows.  She  stopped  by  the  mantelpiece,  and,  lean- 
ing against  it,  looked  down  at  the  white  lilac  in  the 
grate. 

"You  have  never  told  me  a  lie,  Anna!  And 
yet-" 

"  I  have  told  you  the  truth  now.  How  could  I 
have  heard  from  them  ?  They  know  nothing  of  me 
—  nothing  of  where  I  am."  Her  voice  was  monoto- 
nous and  tired. 

"  Of  course  not,  and  yet  —  Oh,  I  admit  myself 
beaten  ! "  She  lifted  her  head.  "  Against  a  doggedly 
indifferent  woman  there  is  no  weapon  under  the  sun." 


THE    CIRCLE  235 

She  walked  quickly  towards  the  door,  then  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  she  paused.  Her  hands  were 
hanging  by  her  sides,  and  her  eyes  gleamed. 

"  Anna,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  for  heaven's  sake,  cry  ! 
Lose  your  temper  or  cry.  Do  something  —  do  any- 
thing, only  don't  lie  there  like  that.  You  look  as  if 
you  were  seeing  ghosts  ! "  She  laid  her  hands  on  the 
foot-rail  of  the  bed  and  leant  forward. 

Anna  remained  unmoved.  "  I  have  n't  cried  since 
that  morning  at  Trescar,  when  I  told  you  about 
Maurice.  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  ever  cry 
again !  ** 

"  Then  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  There 's  nothing  that 
two  people  —  two  determined  people  —  cannot  do. 
I  am  as  capable  of  helping  you  as  a  man  —  more 
capable.  Anna  ?  " 

There  was  a  note  in  the  last  word  that  Anna  had 
not  heard  before.  Its  appeal  cut  through  her ;  she 
suddenly  raised  herself. 

"  Oh,  Jeanne !  "  she  said  brokenly.  "  I  'm  doing 
my  best.  Indeed,  indeed,  I  'm  doing  my  best !  If 
you  care  for  me  the  littlest  bit,  don't  question  me 
any  more."  Her  voice  rose. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  walked  round  to  her  former  posi- 
tion beside  the  bed  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's 
shoulder.  But  Anna  pushed  it  excitedly  aside. 

"  No  !  Let  me  say  what  I  can  say  now  —  while 
I  want  to  say  it.  Something  has  happened :  it 
doesn't  matter  what.  When  there  is  a  fire  at  sea 
and  people  are  killed,  it  does  n't  much  matter 


236  THE    CIRCLE 

whether  they  are  burnt  or  drowned.  They  are 
dead,  and  that  is  enough.  Something  has  fallen  on 
me  and  left  me  stunned  ;  as  yet  I  am  neither  recon- 
ciled nor  beaten  —  only  stunned.  I  can't  talk  to 
you  about  it,  because  I  have  n't  talked  about  it  to 
myself.  Some  day  soon,  when  my  courage  begins 
to  shake  itself  out,  I  will  face  it  and  see  where 
I  stand.  Then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  whole 
life,  Jeanne,  I  will  really  know  myself.  Whatever 
is  strongest  —  the  best  or  the  worst  —  will  come 
to  the  top.  But  now  —  now  I  am  nothing  —  just 
a  shuttlecock  tossed  between  two  bats;  a  feather 
blown  on  the  wind  ;  anything  you  like  to  think 
of  that  has  neither  grip  nor  weight  nor  hold  - 
that  just  exists."  Her  eyes  looked  fixedly  in  front 
of  her,  her  hands  were  clasped  about  her  knees. 
"That's  all  I  have  to  say  —  except  one  thing." 
Her  hands  relaxed  and  she  turned  her  eyes  on  her 
companion's  face.  "  Long  ago  you  won  me  over 
by  a  trick  —  by  a  subterfuge ;  but  that 's  past 
now.  We  are  all  honest  or  dishonest  according 
to  our  lights.  According  to  yours  you  meant  mag- 
nificently by  me  —  and  you  have  done  magnificently. 
I  have  n't  forgotten,  and  I  sha'n't  forget.  I  '11  play 
for  you  loyally  every  night  of  the  three  weeks. 
You  may  count  on  that.  Whatever  my  days  are 
like,  my  nights  will  be  all  right."  Her  voice  sud- 
denly dropped;  she  smiled  wearily  and  put  out 
her  hand.  "  Loyally,  Jeanne.  Remember." 

Mrs.  M axtead  took  the  hand  and  held  it  in  silence. 


THE    CIRCLE  237 

Her  face  was  averted ;  she  looked  towards  the  win- 
dow and  the  sun. 

"I  have  always  been  proud  of  you,  Anna,"  she 
said  at  length,  —  "  quite  ridiculously  proud.  Some- 
how —  somehow  I  think  I  'm  prouder  of  you  to-day 
than  I  have  ever  been."  She  dropped  the  hand,  and 
walking  abruptly  to  the  window,  let  down  the  blind. 


PART    TWO— CHAPTER    XIV 

IT  was  late  afternoon  on  the  last  day  in  May. 
Rain  had  fallen  heavily  in  the  morning,  but 
with  the  drying  capacity  of  the  London  streets 
the  pavements  were  clean  again,  though  the 
heat  that  had  prevailed  for  a  fortnight  was  allayed. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  stepped  out  of  her  brougham  and 
paused  on  the  doorstep  of  her  house  before  inserting 
her  latch-key.  She  turned  round,  and  her  glance 
moved  restlessly  from  the  trees  to  the  sky,  washed 
free  of  clouds ;  from  the  sky  back  again.  She  looked 
older  than  was  customary  as  she  stood  in  the  full 
flood  of  light ;  the  faint  lines  about  her  mouth 
seemed  deeper,  the  set  of  her  lips  harder  than  was 
usual.  She  looked  a  woman  who  was  bearing  a 
mental  strain,  the  weight  of  which  she  hardly  ad- 
mitted to  herself.  Presently  she  sighed,  then  caught 
herself  up  impatiently  and  opened  the  door. 

The  hall  was  empty.  She  threw  her  parasol  on  a 
table  and  mounted  the  stairs.  The  first  door  on  the 
corridor  was  Anna's ;  she  stopped  outside  it  and 
tapped.  Getting  no  answer,  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  walked  away,  and  pushed  her  own  door 
open  with  a  jerk.  Then  she  raised  her  eyebrows. 

**  Anna !     I  Ve  jn«t  been  looking  for  ^ou." 


THE    CIRCLE  239 

Anna  rose  from  the  desk,  a  bundle  of  letters  in 
her  hand.  She  wore  no  hat,  but  her  arras  were 
slipped  loosely  through  the  sleeves  of  her  fur  travel- 
ling-wrap. Mrs.  Maxtead  noted  the  point. 

"  Fur  in  May  !  How  un-English  !  "  She  drew 
off  her  gloves. 

The  other  laughed  a  little  nervously.  "  I  felt  cold. 
I  have  been  writing  business  letters ;  you  see  I  used 
your  desk  —  to  give  me  inspiration." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  nodded.  "  Business  is  rather  petri- 
fying. Who  were  the  letters  to  ?  " 

"  No  one  of  account.  I  was  writing  cheques  and 
paying  bills.  I  was  seeing  how  I  stand.11 

"  My  dear  Anna,  what  a  waste  of  time  !  The  glory 
of  being  rich  is  the  fact  of  being  able  to  ignore  money; 
to  be  really  Arcadian  one  should  be  a  millionaire." 

Anna  stood  silent.  She  was  toying  with  the  letters 
in  her  hand;  occasionally  she  lifted  her  hand  and 
pushed  back  her  hair.  "  I  wrote  one  letter  that  was 
not  about  business,11  she  said  at  length. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  carefully  removed  her  hat  and  veil, 
then,  with  elaborate  indifference,  looked  into  the 
glass.  "  You  are  indefatigable,"  she  said. 

Anna  stirred  a  little.  "  Don't  be  flippant,  Jeanne, 
the  letter  was  to  Maurice." 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  hand  almost  trembled,  but  she 
controlled  the  impulse ;  she  adjusted  a  hairpin  and 
studied  the  effect.  "But  you  write  to  Maurice 
every  other  day.  I  wish  you  would  be  more  casual 
about  trivial  things."" 


240  THE    CIRCLE 

"  This  letter  was  different  from  the  others." 

"  How  original !  It 's  quite  hard  to  get  variety  in 
love  letters ;  they  are  like  one-stringed  instruments." 

Anna  walked  back  to  the  desk  ;  her  face  was 
flushed,  but  she  shivered  with  nervous  cold.  "Do 
take  it  seriously,  Jeanne ;  I  want  you  to  understand.'1 

"  Well,  say  on." 

"  I  have  decided  that  Maurice  must  know." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  turned  from  the  glass.  "  I  am  so 
glad,"  she  said  quickly.  "So  very  glad.  I  hope 
you  have  used  all  your  tact !  Tact  is  more  essential 
to  life  than  bread." 

Anna  touched  the  top  of  the  desk  tentatively. 
"I'm  afraid  I  have  not  used  any  tact." 

"What?" 

"  Oh,  don't  blame  me,  Jeanne ;  don't  blame  me, 
If  I  have  made  an  error,  no  one  will  suffer  but  my- 
self. I  have  done  as  I  think  best  —  as  seems  best 
to  me." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  looked  at  her  slowly.  "  A  mistake 
never  involves  one  person  alone  ;  don't  imagine  that. 
What  exactly  have  you  done  ?  " 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  her  fingers 
moved  slowly  to  and  fro.  At  last  she  looked  up. 
"This  is  Friday  ;  my  engagement  at  the '  Corinthian ' 
ends  to-morrow  night."  She  stopped. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  nodded.  She  felt  the  sense  of  im- 
pending knowledge,  was  conscious  of  it  with  a  half- 
realised  dread.  "  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  quiet  voice. 

"  Well,  Maurice  will  know  to-morrow.     Don't  look 


THE    CIRCLE  241 

at  me  like  that.  It  seems  as  if  your  eyes  were  boring 
holes.  I  have  thought  it  out  —  all  of  it.11  She  spoke 
fast.  "  He  must  know,  and  I  cannot  tell  him  —  and 
cannot  write.  There  is  only  one  way  left ;  he  must 
see  for  himself.'1  She  paused  and  passed  her  hand- 
kerchief over  her  lips ;  the  gesture  was  unusual  to 
her,  one  that  never  suggested  itself,  save  in  strong 
excitement.  Mrs.  Maxtead  saw  it  and  made  a  men- 
tal note. 

"  Explain  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  can't  you  see  for  yourself?  Can't  you 
understand  ?  I  have  written  to  Maurice,  asking  him 
to  come  up  from  Trescar  to-morrow.  He  will  arrive 
late  in  the  afternoon  ;  he  will  want  to  see  me  as  soon 
as  possible.  Now,  it  is  the  height  of  the  season,  and 
few  people  in  town  have  an  evening  to  spare.  What 
more  natural  than  that  we  should  meet  at  a  place 
of  amusement  ?  What  more  natural  than  that  you 
should  have  a  box  at  the  *  Corinthian '  ?  " 

"  Anna !     Are  you  out  of  your  senses  ?  " 

Anna  lifted  her  head.  "  Sometimes  I  think  I  am. 
Do  you  remember  the  night  we  dined  with  Maurice 
at  Trescar?  Do  you  remember  what  Doctor  Pen- 
rhyn  said  about  geniuses?  Perhaps  you  are  right, 
after  all ;  perhaps  I  am  a  genius,  and  perhaps  this  is 
my  mad  time."  She  laughed  unsteadily. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  moved  across  to  her,  but  she  drew 
away.  "Don't  touch  me,  Jeanne  ;  I  could  n't  bear 
to  be  touched  just  now.  I  am  all" — she  made  an 
effective  gesture  —  "  I  am  all  in  little  bits." 

16 


242 

The  other  walked  back  to  the  dressing-table  and 
rested  against  it,  looking  at  the  girl  with  attentive 
eyes.  For  once,  it  seemed,  she  could  find  nothing  to 
say. 

Anna's  fingers  pressed  the  letters  in  her  hand  ;  her 
nervousness  was  rising,  but  she  made  a  strenuous 
effort  to  keep  it  in  control. 

"Look  at  something  else,  Jeanne;  I  abominate 
being  summed  up."" 

Mrs.  Maxtead  lowered  her  lids.  "  My  dear  child," 
she  said,  "I'd  turn  that  matter  over  quite  three 
times,  if  I  were  you.  Never  put  a  man  in  a  false 
position,  if  you  have  any  other  course  ;  even  love  can 
be  killed  by  a  single  incident  —  if  the  incident  be 
strong  enough.  It  's  a  preposterous  way  of  breaking 
it  to  him.  Perfectly  preposterous  !  " 

Anna  set  her  lips.     "  It 's  the  way  I  wish  to  do  it." 

"  Why  not  write  ?  " 

"  Because  I  cannot.  I  know  you  don't  under- 
stand, and  I  know  that  I  can't  explain  ;  so  it  must 
rest  there.  But  I  have  been  trying  to  write  it  for  a 
week  past,  and  every  time  the  pen  sticks  —  literally 
sticks." 

"  Let  me  write  for  you  ?  With  half  a  sheet  of 
notepaper  Maurice  can  be  made  to  understand.  It 
was  a  joke  in  the  first  instance  —  a  very  harmless 
joke ;  afterwards,  you  fell  in  love  —  that  covers 
everything.  Maurice  is  n't  a  Puritan  or  an  imbecile. 
He  isn't  the  sort  of  man  to  shut  his  wife  into  a 
harem.  After  the  first  little  wound  to  his  vanity, 


THE    CIRCLE  243 

he  will  be  prouder  of  you  than  I  am.  There  is  n't 
a  man  living  who  would  n't  lose  his  head  over  your 
preference.  Let  me  write  ?  Find  me  a  pen  and 
let 's  make  an  end  of  it  once  for  all  ?  " 

Anna  remained  rigid.  "  You  don't  understand. 
I  want  him  to  see  it  all  in  a  flash  —  one  big  flash. 
I  have  my  reasons ;  I  know  exactly  what  I  am 
doing." 

"  It  is  a  very  dangerous  game.  A  man  can  have 
an  overdose  of  enlightenment.1' 

"  I  know  ;  but  you  don't  understand." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  And  as 
4  Sappho'?" 

The  girl  turned.  "  I  meant  it  to  be  *  Sappho.'  I 
want  to  make  no  sentimental  appeal." 

The  other  laughed  curtly.  "  And  did  you  suppose 
that  I  would  assist  at  the  denoiiment  ? " 

"  No.  I  supposed  you  would  stay  at  home.  I  tell 
you  because  I  want  you  to  know,  not  because  I  want 
you  to  co-operate.  I  have  told  Maurice  to  be  in 
good  time  and  to  wait  in  the  box ;  he  won't  have  to 
wait  very  long." 

"  No.  Ten  minutes  ought  to  set  him  right."  Mrs. 
Maxtead's  manner  was  diy. 

Anna  looked  down  at  her  letters.  "  I  think  I  have 
said  everything  now,  Jeanne." 

"  You  have  said  a  good  deal ;  I  almost  think  it 's 
my  turn."  Her  eyes  gleamed  and  she  dropped  her 
bantering  tone.  "You  are  grown  up,  Anna,  and 
you  have  a  great  future  in  front  of  you ;  but  to  me 


244  THE    CIRCLE 

you  are  still  a  child.  In  my  eyes  you  will  always  be 
young.  I  will  always  look  back  on  you  from  my 
thirteen  years'  start.  Now,  in  dealing  with  a  child, 
what  are  one's  principles?  Reward  it  when  it's 
good ;  punish  it  when  it 's  bad ;  always,  under  all 
conditions,  shield  it  from  its  own  mistakes.  I  have 
no  intention  of  letting  you  work  this  scheme.  If  you 
are  mad,  all  the  more  reason  for  my  sanity.  You 
shall  not  post  the  letter  while  I  am  here." 

Anna  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes  grew  very  dark. 
"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Jeanne." 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  expression  became  set.  "  I  never 
beg,  you  know  that.  I  forbid  you  to  post  it." 

Anna's  colour  paled  a  little.  "I  am  very,  very 
sorry,  Jeanne." 

"  Then  you  set  me  absolutely  aside  ?  " 

"  I  act  as  I  think  best." 

They  looked  at  each  other  silently,  then  Mrs.  Max- 
tead  came  straight  across  the  space  that  divided 
them. 

"  In  dealing  with  an  insane  person,  one  is  justified 
in  anything."  She  made  a  swift  forward  movement, 
and  her  hand  grazed  the  letters. 

Anna  swerved  aside,  and  the  blood  rushed  back 
into  her  face.  With  nervous  haste  she  walked  to 
the  mantelpiece  and  pressed  the  bell. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  fingered  her  rings.  "  Anna,  there 
are  some  acts  that  a  woman  would  give  much  to 
recall  —  when  it  is  too  late." 

Anna  looked  straight  in  front  of  her. 


THE    CIRCLE  245 

The  maid  entered  and  glanced  questioningly  from 
one  to  the  other. 

Anna  turned  to  her.  "I  rang,  Celeste.  Have 
these  letters  posted  at  once."  She  held  them  out. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  was  standing  by  the  dressing-table. 
As  Celeste  moved  across  the  room,  she  made  a  step 
forward,  her  lips  parted,  then  closed  again ;  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  turned  aside. 

"  Some  day  I  shall  write  a  treatise  on  '  Woman,'  " 
she  said  lightly.  "  I  think  it  ought  to  sell." 


PART    TWO— CHAPTER    XV 


E 


IGHT  o'clock  struck  as  Strode  stood  01, 
the  steps  of  his  club  and  looked  down  on 
.  the  progress  of  life.  London,  in  the  ordi- 
•  nary  course  of  things,  possessed  slight 
attraction  for  him ;  but  to-night  he  saw  it  through 
ts  own  blue  haze  of  evening,  whose  mystery  en- 
'eloped  and  beautified  almost  beyond  belief. 

He  stood  contemplatively  still,  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  coat,  a  cigar  between  his  lips.  There 
are  moments  in  the  life  of  every  man  when  events 
~eem  too  complete  to  admit  of  haste ;  when,  through 
*;he  very  impatience  of  desire,  he  loiters  on  the  brink 
af  fulfilment. 

Presently  a  man  lounged  up  the  steps  and  nodded 
to  him  in  passing.  "  Hallo,  Strode ! "  he  said.  "  That 
you?" 

Strode's  reverie  melted.  He  turned  with  a  cordial 
impulse  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Hallo,  Strangfield  !  How  are  you  ?  How  are 
you?1' 

The  other  returned  the  pressure  of  his  hand 
vaguely.  "  Bound  for  the  old  grind  ?  "  he  asked, 
indicating  the  town. 

Strode  smiled.  "  A  lot  hangs  on  a  point  of  view," 
he  said.  "  You  should  have  yourself  buried  for  four 


THE    CIRCLE  247 

weeks  ;  after  that,  I  expect,  you  'd  talk  more  politely 
of  life." 

Strangfield  gazed  at  him  attentively  through  his 
eyeglass.  "  You  look  as  if  you  'd  struck  something," 
he  said  at  last  slowly.  "  What  is  it  ?  A  woman  or 
a  winner  ?  " 

Strode  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  he  laughed 
with  deep  amusement. 

"  You  Ve  hit  it,  old  chap  !  I  have  struck  some- 
thing ;  but  I  don't  think  I  '11  put  a  name  to  it. 
Somehow  —  somehow,  Strangfield,  I  rather  fancy 
you  would  n't  understand.""  He  laughed  again  long 
and  pleasantly,  then  suddenly  slapped  the  other  on 
the  shoulder  and  ran  down  the  steps. 

Straugfield  stood  immovable  for  a  second;  then 
his  eyeglass  dropped  from  his  eye,  he  turned  about 
meditatively,  and  passed  through  the  big  swinging 
doors. 

Strode  walked  forward  for  a  dozen  rapid  steps, 
then  stopped  and  hailed  a  hansom. 

"  '  Corinthian  '  Theatre  !  "  he  called  as  he  sprang 
inside.  The  doors  closed,  and  he  leant  luxuriously 
back.  At  all  times  optimistic  and  light-hearted, 
to-night  he  felt  well  disposed  towards  the  entire  uni- 
verse. In  his  pocket  was  Anna's  letter ;  behind  him 
lay  the  four  weeks  of  probation ;  before  him  the 
future  of  boundless  hopes  and  the  present  of  delight- 
ful certainty.  He  was  at  ease  with  all  the  world 
and  with  himself. 

Arrived  at  the  theatre  he  paid  the  cabman  twice 


248  THE    CIRCLE 

his  fare,  and  strolled  into  the  vestibule  wit  A  the  half- 
humorous  smile  that  Strangfield  had  raised  still 
lingering  round  his  mouth.  The  vestibule  was  large, 
and  entering  it  he  paused  interestedly  and  looked 
about ;  with  a  tinge  of  peculiar  feeling  it  struck 
him  that  here  was  the  stronghold  of  the  woman 
whose  story  had  affected  him  long  ago.  It  was  a 
curious  whim  of  Anna's  to  choose  it  as  their  meeting- 
place.  He  paused  on  the  thought,  and  a  new  idea 
started  in  his  mind ;  for  almost  the  first  time  he 
found  himself  wondering  what  this  woman's  face  was 
like.  Her  pictures  were  sure  to  be  about  —  such 
people  always  advertised.  He  glanced  round  the 
walls,  but  no  pictures  were  to  be  seen ;  then  he  re- 
membered impatiently  that  it  was  the  last  night  of 
the  engagement,  and  such  things  as  pictures  were 
already  packed  away.  With  a  contemptuous  amuse- 
ment at  his  passing  curiosity,  he  mixed  with  the 
increasing  crowd  that  filled  the  vestibule,  and  mov- 
ing past  one  laughing  group  and  then  another, 
reached  the  office  and  asked  for  Mrs.  Maxtead's 
box. 

The  letter  of  the  box  was  murmured  to  him,  then 
repeated  to  an  attendant,  and  he  was  ushered  along 
a  corridor  carpeted  in  green.  He  noticed  that  the 
colouring  was  green,  in  contrast  to  the  usual  red  of 
such  a  place ;  it  was  the  sole  detail  of  the  elaborately- 
fitted  theatre  that  afterwards  stayed  in  his  mind. 

A  wave  of  disappointment  touched  him  as  the 
door  was  opened  and  the  vacant  box  met  his  eyes ; 


THE    CIRCLE  249 

then  he  caught  himself  up  impatiently  as  a  portion 
of  Anna's  letter  recurred  to  his  mind.  "  It  may  be 
ten  minutes  past  the  half  hour  when  you  see  me,"  it 
ran,  "  but  be  kind  —  kind  and  very  lenient,  as  you 
always  are."  How  exaggerative  women  were  !  But 
how  exceedingly  lovable  !  His  expression  softened  ; 
the  door  closed  on  the  attendant,  and  taking  off  his 
hat  and  coat,  he  hung  them  up. 

He  smoothed  his  hair,  and  passed  his  hand  tenta- 
tively over  his  chin.  "  It  felt  a  very  decent  shave," 
he  said  half  aloud.  "  But  a  woman's  eyes  are  so 
deuced  keen — "  The  sentence  broke  away.  From 
below  came  the  short,  peremptory  tap  of  the  con- 
ductor's baton,  the  faint  shifting  of  seats  and  arrang- 
ing of  instruments,  then  the  first  melodious  note  of 
the  overture  that  prefaced  the  first  act  of  the  play. 

He  moved  to  the  front  of  the  box,  sat  down  and 
opened  his  programme ;  he  glanced  through  it  super- 
ficially, but  his  eye  lingered  on  the  last  name, 
" '  Sappho '  —  Mdlle.  Solny."  He  smiled  grimly  and 
laid  the  paper  aside.  The  overture  ceased ;  a  babel 
of  laughter  and  talk  and  a  waving  of  fans  seemed  to 
fill  the  air;  the  perfume  of  flowers  and  scent  rose 
distinctly  from  the  stalls.  He  leant  out,  then  leant 
back  and  drew  his  watch  from  an  inner  pocket.  The 
hands  marked  half-past  eight ;  he  moved  impatientlv 
and  altered  the  position  of  his  chair. 

An  audible  rustle  ran  through  the  house  as  women 
settled  themselves  more  comfortably  ;  the  hum  of 
voices  slackened,  then  suddenly  died  out ;  the  orches- 


250  THE    CIRCLE 

tra  played  a  soft  bar  or  two,  and  in  expectant  silence 
the  curtain  rose. 

The  scene  was  severe  and  unadorned  —  Jean 
Gaussin's  rooms  in  the  Rue  Jacob ;  the  sombre 
carpet,  the  desk  massed  with  work,  the  student's 
lamp  —  each  detail  suggestive  and  impressive  in  its 
way.  The  rise  of  the  curtain  disclosed  Gaussin  in 
converse  with  his  uncle  from  the  country.  Strode 
leant  back  in  his  seat ;  the  perfect  pronunciation  of 
the  French  pleased  him,  but  to  the  motive  of  the 
words  he  paid  only  partial  heed.  The  reformed 
roue,  roused  by  the  town  to  the  remembrance  of  his 
past,  interested  him  not  at  all ;  though  the  boy 
Gaussin,  with  his  fair  hair,  young  colouring,  and 
sensitive  voice,  seemed  better  worth  watching,  as 
bit  by  bit  —  with  little  rushes  of  enthusiasm,  sudden 
shy  baitings  —  he  told  the  story  of  the  ball  at 
Deehelette's  studio ;  of  the  woman  in  the  Egyptian 
dress,  with  the  wide  grey  eyes,  and  the  forehead 
ornaments  of  steel ;  of  the  wild  night  that  followed ; 
the  home-coming  to  this  very  room  ;  the  terrible, 
prophetic  ascent  of  the  long  stairs  —  its  gay  begin- 
ning, its  almost  overwhelming  end.  It  was  a  studied 
piece  of  acting,  ending  with  pointed  force  where  the 
boy,  with  a  swift  touch  of  reserve,  breaks  in  on  his 
uncle's  laugh,  and  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders 
that  snaps  the  subject  off,  nods  to  the  mirror,  where 
a  woman's  card  is  stuck  between  an  invitation  to  the 
Affaires  Etrangeres  and  the  programme  of  the  studio 
ball,  and  turning  to  his  desk,  picks  up  a  ponderous 


THE    CIRCLE  251 

book.  It  was  well  done,  and  possessed  the  suggestion 
of  events  to  come.  But  a  man  in  love  is  not  the 
ideal  critic  of  a  play.  Strode  looked  again  at  his 
watch,  then  he  looked  towards  the  door  of  the 
box.  The  watch  marked  ten  minutes  past  the  half 
hour ;  with  an  impatient  sigh  he  turned  again  to  the 
stage. 

The  uncle  Cesaire  had  shuffled  out  of  sight ; 
Gaussin  sat  at  his  desk,  his  elbows  resting  on  it, 
his  forehead  supported  by  his  hands,  the  green  shade 
of  the  lamp  reflected  on  his  engrossed  face. 

Strode  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  ;  as  he  did 
so  a  faint  knock  fell  on  the  door  of  Gaussin's  room. 
He  noticed,  in  a  preoccupied  way,  that  the  audience 
was  very  still  —  breathlessly  still ;  as  he  crossed  the 
box  he  heard  Gaussin's  short  impatient  "Come 
in!" 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  door  leading  into  the 
corridor,  then  he  stood  still.  A  roar  of  applause 
shook  the  house.  It  swayed  upwards  and  downwards 
deafeningly,  like  the  thunder  of  the  sea ;  it  sank  away 
to  a  whisper,  then  broke  forth  again,  tumultuous 
and  electrifying.  Strode's  hand  relaxed.  He  stood 
irresolute  :  then,  following  a  very  human  impulse, 
walked  back  to  the  front  of  the  box.  There  he 
stood  motionless  —  his  hands  on  the  back  of  his 
chair  —  his  figure  erect  and  very  stiff. 

The  door  at  the  back  of  Gaussin's  room  had  opened, 
and  "  Sappho  "  herself  was  on  the  stage.  She  stood 
quite  still,  one  hand  resting  on  the  lintel  of  the  door, 


252  THE    CIRCLE 

her  head  held  up  ;  a  large  hat  drooped  over  her  face, 
a  curve  of  red  hair  caught  the  light  above  her  won- 
derful eyes  ;  her  dress  shimmered,  and  her  teeth,  be- 
tween her  parted  lips,  gleamed.  She  was  "  Sappho  " 
as  Daudet  has  drawn  her  in  the  height  of  her  in- 
toxication. When  the  tumult  of  applause  had  died 
away,  she  turned  to  Gaussin  with  a  slight  gesture. 

"  It  is  I,  you  see  ...  I  return  .  .  .""  The 
accent  was  very  perfect  —  the  faintly  delicate  sug- 
gestion of  the  Russian  burr,  to  be  caught  by  an 
over-attentive  ear,  added  piquancy  and  individual- 
ity to  the  voice.  To  Strode,  standing  in  strained 
attention,  every  sound  came  clear  and  fine  as  a 
bell ;  every  intonation  sprang  through  his  mind 
with  the  speed  and  vividness  of  light,  shaking  his 
thoughts  as  a  violent  concussion  might  have  done. 
Very  slowly,  almost  methodically,  he  passed  his  hand 
four  or  five  times  over  his  hair ;  then  he  turned,  and 
moving  into  the  centre  of  the  box,  paused. 

He  stood  for  five  minutes  without  a  movement ; 
then  the  physical  crampedaess  of  his  position  forced 
him  to  stir.  He  walked  slowly  across  the  narrow 
space  to  where  his  coat  was  hung  ;  he  lifted  it  from 
its  peg,  looked  at  it,  and  put  it  back  again ;  then 
with  great  deliberation  he  retraced  his  steps.  In 
the  middle  of  the  box  he  paused  afresh,  drew  out 
his  watch,  and  wound  it  with  peculiar  attentive  care. 
This  done,  he  moved  forward  stiffly,  and  taking  up 
his  first  position,  sat  there  with  scarcely  a  change  of 
attitude  till  the  curtain  fell.  At  the  first  outbreak 


THE    CIRCLE  253 

of  applause  he  rose  with  a.  rapidity  that  overturned 
his  chair,  and  walked  out  into  the  corridor. 

From  the  various  exits  people  were  already  filing 
out.  It  was  noticeable  that  in  the  thickest  of  the 
press  men  moved  aside  to  let  him  pass,  and  stared 
after  him  when  he  had  gone.  In  the  vestibule  he 
walked  straight  to  an  attendant. 

"  How  can  I  get  to  the  back  ?  "  he  said. 

The  man  looked  at  him.     "  The  back,  sir  —  ?  " 

Strode  turned.  "  God  in  heaven,  man,  can't  you 
understand  English  ?  "  His  tone  was  very  low,  but 
it  pierced  the  attendant's  brain.  He  drew  back. 

"Behind,  sir,  you  mean,"  he  corrected  hastily. 
"  The  stage-door  in  Green  Street  —  round  the  cor- 
ner. Can  I  find  you  your  hat,  sir?"  But  Strode 
was  gone. 

In  two  minutes  he  had  found  the  stage-door,  and 
without  a  second's  pause  had  pushed  it  open.  He 
took  a  perfunctory  glance  round  the  bare  walls,  at 
the  occasional  men  and  women  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
at  the  flaring  gas-jets  in  their  cages ;  then  he 
walked  quickly  to  the  little  office  where  the  door- 
keeper lounged  over  an  evening  paper.  He  took 
out  a  card  and  laid  it  on  the  ledge. 

"  For  Mdlle.  Solny,"  he  said  laconically ;  then  he 
turned  his  back. 

The  man  picked  up  the  card,  eyed  it,  then  turned 
his  attention  to  its  owner.  "  Very  sorry,  sir  — " 

Strode  turned  sharply.  "  Don't  waste  time.  Send 
up  the  card." 


254 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,  but  the  lady  never  sees  nobody 
during  a  performance.  Orders  are  very  strict,  sir."1 
The  man  fiddled  with  the  card. 

Strode  took  a  step  forward,  looked  round  the 
temporarily  empty  passage,  then  wheeled  again  and 
laid  a  sovereign  on  the  desk. 

The  man  glanced  at  it  thoughtfully,  but  shook 
his  head. 

Strode  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  drawing  out  a 
second  sovereign  laid  it  by  the  first.  "I  give  you 
four  minutes,11  he  said,  looking  at  the  clock. 

The  door-keeper  moved  a  little.  "  It 's  risking 
my  place,  sir  — " 

Without  a  word  Strode  drew  out  a  third  coin. 

The  man  moved  uncomfortably,  passed  the  back 
of  his  hand  across  his  mouth,  looked  slowly  round, 
and  then  touched  the  gold  speculatively. 

"  It  is  n't  the  matter  of  the  money,  sir." 

Strode  laughed  harshly.  "  Oh,  that 's  understood. 
Call  somebody,  and  look  sharp."" 

The  man  shuffled  a  little  more,  laid  his  hand  on 
a  bell,  then  paused.  "  I  '11  go  myself,  sir.  If  any- 
body passes  in,  tell  'em  I  '11  be  back."  He  picked  up 
the  coins,  came  out  of  his  office,  and  moved  away. 
At  the  turn  of  the  passage  he  looked  back.  "  Evenin' 
paper's  on  the  desk,  sir.'" 

Strode  turned  to  him.  "  What  the  devil  are  you 
waiting  for?" 

Left  to  himself,  he  paced  up  and  down.  His 
stolidity  was  gone ;  his  energy  was  alive  and  goad- 


THE    CIRCLE  255 

ing  him  ;  his  activity  ran  like  wildfire  through  his 
blood.  He  took  out  a  cigar,  bit  off  the  end  and 
lighted  it,  then  threw  it  aside.  The  minutes  seemed 
hours  ;  his  impatience  was  at  fever  heat.  Then  at 
last  the  shuffling  steps  of  the  door-keeper  came  to 
his  ears.  He  ran  down  the  passage  and  met  the 
man. 

"  That  11  do,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Just  show  me 
the  way." 

The  man  hesitated. 

«  Well,  man,  out  with  it !  " 

"  I  saw  her  maid,  sir  —  not  the  dresser,  sir,  but 
her  own  maid  ;  and  she  said  —  " 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  What  I  told  you,  sir.  The  lady  never  sees 
nobody  during  the  play." 

Strode  made  an  exclamation  and  turned  away. 

"  That  was  n't  all,  sir.11 

"Ah!" 

**  No,  sir,  I  was  n't  to  be  put  off;  I  stuck  at  it.  At 
last,  sir,  she  took  in  your  card." 

"  Good  !     And  then  ?  " 

"Mdlle.  was  most  regretful,  sir,  but  —  **  He 
paused  to  draw  a  heavy  breath.  "  She 's  not  over 
well  to-night,  sir,  and  could  n't  see  you.  She  hoped 
you  'd  understand  —  " 

Strode  moved  away  ;  for  the  moment  it  seemed 
that  he  had  forgotten  the  speaker's  existence.  Reach- 
ing the  door,  he  pulled  it  open  and  stood  on  the 
step,  looking  out  into  the  narrow  silent  street ; 


256  THE    CIRCLE 

then  suddenly  he  turned  and  walked  back  into  the 
passage. 

"  What  time  does  she  leave  the  theatre,  after  the 
show  's  done  ?  " 

"  Eleven  forty-five,  sir ;  never  sooner,  sir." 

"Never  sooner?  Thanks!11  He  nodded  curtly 
and  turned  away  ;  the  stage-door  closed  behind  him 
with  a  bang. 

When  he  regained  the  vestibule  people  were  mov- 
ing back  into  the  house ;  the  second  act  was  due. 
He  mounted  the  stairs  quickly,  then  stopped  and 
glanced  into  the  fast-emptying  bar.  The  women  be- 
hind the  counter  were  gossiping  together  in  a  group  ; 
a  few  men  lingered  over  their  drinks.  He  turned 
sharply  and  entered. 

"  Brandy-and-soda  !  "  he  said  laconically  ;  then 
suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  his  face  in  the  mirror. 
He  took  a  step  backward  and  drew  in  his  breath ; 
then  he  passed  his  hand  once  more  across  his 
hair. 

"  Say,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  you  can  leave  the  soda 
out" 


PART   TWO  — CHAPTER    XVI 

A~"  one  minute  past  twelve  Strode  knocked 
sharply  at  the  house  in  Palace  Court. 
He  was   quite  as  neat  in   appearance, 
quite  as  well  groomed  as  ever,  but  the 
patent  leather  of  his  boots  was  soiled  with  mud,  and 
the  ends  of  his  trousers  were  slightly  splashed  with 
it.     Without  any  preliminary  ceremony  he  walked 
past  Branks  into  the  hall. 

"  Your  mistress  ?  "  he  queried  shortly. 

"Mrs.  Maxtead  is  in  the  boudoir,  sir.  Shall 
I—?" 

"  No.  I  think  I  know  the  room  ;  I  '11  go  right 
in."  He  walked  across  the  hall  and  lifted  the  divid- 
ing curtain. 

The  windows  were  open,  and  the  blinds  fluttered 
slightly  in  the  draught  of  his  entrance.  It  was  still 
a  room  of  soft  colouring,  as  it  had  been  on  the  day 
of  Anna's  first  visit;  the  lamplight  glowed  through 
pink  shades,  and  in  the  grate  long  sprays  of  pink 
roses  were  massed  in  purple  bowls.  At  the  farther 
end  Mrs.  Maxtead  lay  on  a  couch  drawn  close  to  the 
window,  a  book  held  open  in  her  hand.  She  rose 
slowly  as  Strode  appeared. 

"Where  is  Anna?"  he  asked  curtly,  as  he  held 
out  his  hand. 

17 


258  THE    CIRCLE 

She  raised  her  eyebrows.  "My  dear  Maurice,  I 
had  almost  asked  the  same  question.  You  have 
seen  her  last?" 

He  moved  impatiently.  "  I  Ve  been  to  the  '  Cor- 
inthian,1 but  that  doesn't  count.  After  the  first 
act  I  sent  up  my  card,  but  she  wouldn't  see  me, 
I  left  the  theatre  then  and  walked  —  anywhere  — 
everywhere."  He  looked  down  at  his  boots,  "  I 
thought  of  going  back  and  meeting  her  as  she  came 
away  —  I  even  reached  Green  Street ;  then  I  changed 
my  mind.  After  all,  it  was  her  privilege  to  see  me 
or  not  as  she  pleased ;  no  man  has  the  right  to  dog 
a  woman  in  a  public  place.  I  came  here  instead. 
She  has  n't  arrived  ?  " 

Mrs.  Maxtead  walked  back  to  the  couch  and  sat 
down.  "  Not  as  yet.  The  carriage  meets  her  at  a 
quarter  to  twelve ;  she  seldom  gets  here  before 
a  quarter  past." 

There  was  silence  for  a  while.  Strode  walked  to 
the  mantelpiece  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it.  His 
hat  was  still  in  his  hand,  he  stared  down  at  it 
vaguely.  All  the  while  his  companion  watched  him 
with  vigilant  eyes ;  at  last  she  spoke,  tentatively  and 
very  low. 

"  Have  you  looked  in  the  glass  to-night,  Maurice  ?" 

He  started,  and  laughed  uneasily.  "  Oh,  I  know 
what  you  mean !  I  did  see  my  face  about  three 
hours  ago.  It  looked  exactly  like  my  uncle's  when 
he's  rowing  the  men  or  negotiating  a  big  deal. 
Queer  things  likenesses!" 


THE    CIRCLE  259 

There  was  a  fresh  pause.  Three  minutes  passed, 
then  five.  Mrs.  Maxtead  touched  each  of  her  rings 
separately,  drew  one  off,  slipped  it  on  again,  then 
tapped  her  book.  "Maurice,  if  you  have  a  spark 
of  consideration,  say  something  !  I  never  put  in  a 
ghastlier  time  of  suspense  than  I  have  done  to-night. 
I  dined  in  my  own  room,  and  sat  there  till  the 
furniture  turned  into  ghosts  ;  I  came  for  comfort  to 
the  dining-room,  and  there  Anna's  picture  stared 
me  out  of  countenance ;  then  I  fled  in  here,  but  here 
there  was  a  ticking  clock,  warranted  to  drive  one 
frenzied  in  half  an  hour.  I  had  just  looked  in  a 
drawer  and  opened  the  windows  when  you  arrived. 
Your  knock  on  the  front  door  —  but  I  won't  say  any- 
thing about  that  I  believe  I  understand  at  last 
what  people  mean  by  nerves  — "  She  twisted  her 
book  restlessly  and  tried  to  laugh. 

Strode  stood  silent. 

"  Maurice ! " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh  !  "  She  brought  her  hands  together  and  the 
book  fell.  "How  dense  you  are!  Why  do  you 
stand  there  like  a  mute  ?  Is  this  mystery  a  disease  ? 
Does  it  hang  about  in  germs  ?  I  tell  you  I  have 
been  breathing  it  in  —  been  living  in  it  —  been 
suffocated  by  it  for  four  whole  weeks.  I  feel  like 
annihilating  the  next  person  who  looks  at  me  blankly 
and  answers  in  a  monosyllable." 

Strode  crossed  the  room  and  picked  up  the  book. 
"  What  do  you  want  ? ""  he  asked. 


THE    CIRCLE 

She  sat  up  straight  and  looked  at  him.  "You 
have  seen  Anna ;  you  know  all  there  is  to  know. 
What  is  the  result?" 

He  walked  to  the  window  and,  holding  back  the 
blind,  looked  out.  "  If  you  want  plain  speaking.""  he 
said,  "  I  have  been  in  hell  ever  since." 

Each  word  fell  with  distinct  precision.  For  the 
first  time  in  a  lengthy  space  of  years  Mrs.  Maxtead's 
guard  of  callousness  lost  its  hold,  and  her  feelings 
swept  across  her  face  ;  incredulity,  astonishment,  con- 
tempt, each  shook  her  visibly.  At  last  she  spoke 
with  bitter  emphasis. 

"  How  short-sighted  we  are,  Maurice,  when  all  is 
reckoned  up  !  Only  two  days  ago  —  two  little  davs 
ago  —  I  proposed  to  explain  Anna's  identity  on  half  a 
sheet  of  noiepaper."  She  laughed. 

Strode  looked  back  into  the  room.  His  silence 
stung  her  afresh. 

"  I  see,  I  overlooked  the  value  you  men  set  upon 
yourselves ;  I  forgot  that  the  nicest  man,  the  very 
nicest,  grinds  up  into  common  clay  in  one  particular 
mill,  the  mill  of  his  own  conceit." 

Strode  passed  his  hand  over  his  hair,  then  he 
moved  forward  and  stood  looking  down  on  her. 
*  Good  God ! "  he  said  quietly,  "  do  I  seem  as  big 
a  cad  as  that  ?  "" 

She  had  avoided  his  eyes,  now  she  looked  quickly 
up.  She  was  not  devoid  of  instinct,  and  her  compre- 
hension was  clearer  than  that  of  most.  With  a  sharp 
movement  she  rose  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 


THE    CIRCLE  261 

;t  Maurice,"  she  said,  "  I  believe  I  have  been  a  fool  all 
along  ;  I  believe  I  have  been  taking  the  wrong  turn- 
ing. A  man  doesn't  go  down  to  hell  because  the 
girl  he  loves  has  a  great  career  ! "  She  searched  his 
face. 

He  looked  at  her  evenly  for  a  moment,  then  he 
looked  away. 

"No,"  he  said  slowly,  "that's  right.  But  the 
fires  do  lick  him  up  when  he  sees  the  woman  he 
cares  for  suffering  through  his  act ;  when  he  faces 
himself  for  three  hours  and  realises  that  the  good 
has  been  taken  out  of  her  life  by  his  folly,  his  want 
of  sight  and  sense.  Good  God  !  what  she  has  gone 
through  !  I  feel  like  a  murderer." 

Mrs.  Maxtead's  skin  paled  a  little,  her  eyes  looked 
preternaturally  bright. 

4;  Maurice,  if  I  love  a  single  human  being,  that 
being  is  Anna.  Can  you  be  a  little  lucid  in  what 
you  say  ?  " 

He  moved  to  the  side  of  the  couch  and  sat  on  its 
arm ;  his  knees  were  apart,  his  locked  hands  between 
them  ;  his  head  was  bent. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  don't  know  ?  " 
he  asked  slowly. 

She  looked  up.     "  I  don't  know  a  single  thing." 

His  gaze  dropped  to  the  carpet. 

"  You  know  of  Anna's  antecedents  —  of  her  past  ?  " 

"  Yes."     She  looked  up  again. 

"Well  — "  He  raised  his  head  and  met  her 
eyes.  "  Well,  by  a  very  odd  chance  I  knew  of  them 


262  THE    CIRCLE 

too —  unconnected  with  her,  of  course.  And  that 
last  night  at  Trescar  —  " 

Her  lips  paled  slightly. 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  said.     "  Yes  ?  " 

"  That  night  I  told  her  her  own  story,  by  way  of 
a  romance  —  names,  places,  everything  —  and  all, 
all  of  it  from  the  other  side,  the  other  point  of  view. 
I  had  got  hold  of  the  other  end.  I  suppose  every 
story,  like  every  string,  must  have  two  ends  —  r 

He  stopped  brusquely,  and  the  muscles  showed  in 
his  clasped  hands. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  rose.  "  Poor  child !  "  she  said 
shortly.  "  Poor  child  ! " 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  n't  alL  I  laid  it  on ;  I  saw 
that  the  story  was  picturesque.""  He  laughed.  "  I 
harped  on  the  scene  she  had  left  —  the  beggar  eating 
his  heart  out  for  her  —  the  poor  old  father  with  his 
reason  gone  —  " 

"  Maurice !  " 

"  Did  n't  you  know  that  ?  The  poor  old  father's 
brain  gave  way  when  she  left.  I  can't  say  that  I 
wonder  much." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I  did  n't  know  —  I  did  n't  know 
that."  She  rose,  and  crossing  to  the  mantelpiece 
leant  her  elbows  on  it.  "  And  was  that  all  ?  " 

Strode  threw  back  his  head. 

"It's  probably  about  half.  All  night  I  have 
been  trying  to  recall  things  ;  but  the  more  I  harass 
myself  the  blanker  they  get.  One  thing  I  'm  sure 
of,  though  —  " 


THE    CIRCLE  263 

«  And  that  —  ?" 

"  That  I  gave  my  cursed  personal  opinion  pretty 
freely ;  that  I  spoke  of  her  as  branded  —  unfit  for 
honest  minds  to  tolerate.  Good  God  ! " 

He  rose  again  and  walked  to  the  window. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  said  nothing.  Her  head  was  bent, 
her  arm  rested  heavily  on  the  mantel-shelf. 

There  was  a  ponderous  silence.  Then  at  last  she 
looked  up. 

"  Of  course  you  have  guessed  that  this  belongs  to 
me — that  I  was  the  motive  power  from  the  first? 
That  I  played  on  her  then — have  played  on  her 
ever  since  ?  In  this  world,  Maurice,  the  blunt  peo- 
ple, like  me,  work  things ;  the  sensitive  people,  like 
Anna,  pay  the  price.  Doesn't  it  strike  you  some- 
times that  the  world  is  out  of  gear  ? " 

Strode  made  no  reply.  He  had  turned  from  the 
window,  after  a  hasty  glance  into  the  roadway,  and 
stood  again  by  the  couch. 

"  Maurice,  what  did  strike  you  when  she  came  on 
the  stage  ?  I  have  a  raging  curiosity  to  know."" 

For  a  moment  his  lips  tightened  ;  then  unaccount- 
ably they  relaxed. 

"After  all,  why  shouldn't  I?"  He  raised  his 
head.  "Why  should  n't  I  tell  you  ?  You  see,  it 
hangs  like  this.  When  a  man  fixes  a  prejudice  in 
his  mind,  he  clings  to  it  like  grim  death.  It 's  easy 
and  nice  to  have  convictions  and  make  theories  about 
a  prejudice,  because  a  prejudice  does  n't  enter  into 
working  life.  Once  reduce  it  to  flesh  and  blood. 


264  THE    CIRCLE 

once  give  it  a  body  and  set  it  in  the  path  a  man 
wants  to  walk,  and  it  sings  very  small.  All  that  I 
said  at  Trescar  that  night  was  absolutely  true — at 
the  time.  This  woman  was  a  prejudice  to  me — had 
been  for  years ;  a  peg  to  hang  my  theories  on.  But 
to-night — "  He  stopped  and  looked  down,  then 
looked  up  again  with  his  old  alert  glance.  "To- 
night all  that  died  its  allotted  death.  It  took  a 
while  to  straighten  things,  but  not  so  long  as  you 
might  have  guessed.  After  all,  there  was  only  one 
fact  to  be  brought  home :  the  fact  that  the  prejudice 
was  Anna — Anna  the  prejudice;  the  fact  that, 
right  or  wrong,  past  or  present,  she  belongs  to  me. 
Anna  is  Anna.  You  understand?"  i, 

She  answered  nothing  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
came  towards  him  quickly ;  but  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  she  stopped,  her  figure  stiffened,  she  made  a 
gesture  of  silence.  At  the  same  instant  Strode 
looked  towards  the  window.  From  the  road  outside 
came  the  sound  of  a  stopping  carriage ;  almost 
simultaneously  the  electric  bell  whizzed  through  the 
house  under  a  lengthy  pressure. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  laughed  nervously,  and  moved  back 
to  the  glass  above  the  mantlepiece. 

"What  a  relief!"  she  said.  "What  an  unspeak- 
able relief!  Do  I  look  very  demoralized,  Maurice? 
I  always  like  to  seem  my  best  for  Anna.  Women 
dress  for  each  other,  you  know;  that's  a  truism 
that's  quite  correct."  She  talked  very  fast,  without 
any  noticeable  pause. 


THE    CIRCLE  265 

Strode  looked  a  little  pale  through  his  sunburn. 
He  crossed  to  her  and  touched  her  arm.  "  Say,""  he 
said,  "  do  you  think  she  11  understand  ?  " 

She  laughed  again.  In  the  hall  they  heard  the 
door  open. 

"  My  dear  man,  I  would  n't  mind  standing  in  your 
shoes  —  there 's  not  much  doubt  as  to  their  fit." 

She  stopped  sharply,  and  they  both  turned  round. 

The  curtain  was  drawn  back,  and  the  white  light 
from  the  hall  streamed  through  into  the  room.  In 
the  aperture  stood  Branks,  his  manner  correct  but 
apologetic,  his  face  slightly  perturbed. 

Strode  was  conscious  of  a  quick  undeniable  appre- 
hension ;  the  brightness  died  out  of  Mrs.  Maxtead's 
eyes. 

"  Well,  Branks  ?  "  she  said  in  an  even  voice. 

"  Well,  ma'am  — "  Branks's  eyes  sought  the 
ceiling. 

Strode  took  a  step  forward.  "  Out  with  it,  man  ! 
Don't  stand  there  gaping." 

A  purple  shade  crossed  Branks's  face.  Ignoring 
Strode,  he  turned  to  his  mistress. 

"  As  I  was  about  to  say,  ma'am  —  " 

"  Quite  right,  Branks.     Go  on." 

"  Bryan  went  to  the  theatre,  ma'am,  as  usual,  at  a 
quarter  before  twelve." 

Strode  walked  the  length  of  the-  room,  and  stood 
by  the  piano. 

"  He  waited  till  five  minutes  past  twelve,  ma'am, 
then  he  sent  for  the  door-keeper." 


266  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Yes,  Branks  ?  " 

"  Well,  ma'am,  the  door-keeper,  he  said  — " 

Strode  lifted  a  silver  ornament  and  laid  it  back 
with  a  slight  crash. 

"  Yes,  Branks  —  the  door-keeper  —  ?  "  Mrs.  Max- 
tead's  voice  was  wonderfully  still. 

With  an  effort  Branks  collected  his  faculties. 

"  He  said,  ma'am,  that  Miss  Solny  had  left  the 
theatre  with  her  maid  at  twenty  minutes  before 
twelve ;  they  drove  off  in  a  cab,  ma'am,  directly 
Miss  Solny  left  the  stage.  Bryan  wishes  to  know, 
ma'am,  if  you  have  any  orders  for  him  to-night?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Branks  looked  discreetly 
down.  Mrs.  Maxtead  glanced  apprehensively  at 
Strode. 

"  Thanks,  Branks  ;  that  is  alL  Tell  Bryan  he  can 
put  up  the  horses." 

Branks  silently  withdrew. 

For  an  interval  neither  occupant  of  the  room 
stirred  ;  by  mutual  consent  they  avoided  each  other's 
eyes.  In  the  hall  outside  they  caught  the  muttering 
of  subdued  voices,  then  the  shutting  of  the  hall  door. 
A  moment  later,  the  sound  of  horses  moving  slowly 
off  came  to  them  through  the  open  window. 

With  an  effort,  Strode  crossed  the  room  and  held 
out  his  hand.  Even  in  the  lamplight  his  face  looked 
a  trifle  grey. 

She  glanced  up  and  touched  his  hand. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  abruptly. 


THE    CIRCLE  267 

"  To  every  hotel  within  reach  to-night ;  to  the 
docks  in  the  morning.  1 11  wire  the  slightest  news. 
Good-night ! "  He  drew  away  his  hand  and  walked 
to  the  door. 

"  Maurice  ! " 

He  turned  back. 

She  was  leaning  against  the  mantelpiece.  Her 
eyes  gleamed ;  there  was  a  valiant  attempt  at  irony 
in  the  set  of  her  lips,  but  her  arms  hung  stiffly  by 
her  sides. 

"  If  I  were  the  religious  sort,  Maurice,  I  should 
want  to  say, '  God  bless  you.1  You  understand  ?  " 

He  stood  irresolute  for  a  second ;  then  he  walked 
back  and  took  her  hand  again. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  I  believe  I  do  understand." 

A  minute  later  he  was  gone. 


PART     THREE— CHAPTER    j 

IT  was  early  forenoon,  but  the  light  that  filterel 
into  the  curio  shop  was  so  dim  that  only  the 
white  Chinese  vases  that  stood  close  to  the 
door    were   clearly    discernible ;    the    shelves, 
rising  tier  on  tier  along  the  walls,  and  filled   for 
the  most  part  with  Eastern  cloths,  seemed  but  so 
many  reflections   of  the  gloom  ;    whiffs   of   hot  air 
came  through  the   overshadowed  doorway   tiiid  min- 
gled  with   the    scent   of   spice:    the    whoie  atmos- 
phere sanded  the  throat  with  a  dry  anxi  enervating 
warmth. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  shop  JTohann  was  at- 
tending to  a  customer ;  in  the  scanty  light  his 
pinched  face  was  barely  to  be  seen,  i>ut  as  he  moved 
from  place  to  place  a  stranger's  ey*  would  have  been 
caught  by  the  stoop,  acquired  of  late  years,  that 
added  point  and  pathos  to  fois  deformity.  The 
minutes  passed ;  the  customer  WAS,  testy  and  hard  to 
please";  it  was  a  hot  day  for  bargaining,  but  Johann 
was  conscientious  and  buried  himself  in  his  task. 
So  absorbed  did  he  become  that  when  a  new  shadow 
fell  across  the  doorway,  thnn  drifted  inward,  and  a 
new  figure  entered  the  shop.,  he  failed  to  notice  it. 

The  new-comer  entered  softly.  She  was  tall,  so 
tall  that  unconsciously,  arid  without  real  necessity, 


THE    CIRCLE  269 

she  bent  as  she  passed  through  the  low  door ;  her 
dress  and  hat  were  black  and  simply  made,  but  with 
the  simplicity  of  marked  distinction.  In  the  first 
instant  she  paused,  but  quickly  gathering  decision, 
moved  into  the  shadows  on  the  right-hand  side  and 
stood  looking  slowly  round.  Her  survey  was  studied 
and  deliberate,  but  instantly  it  was  completed  .she  let 
her  eyes  droop,  shivered  a  little  nervously,  then  pulled 
off  her  gloves  with  peculiar  haste. 

Seller  and  customer  were  engaged  in  an  argument ; 
neither  thought  of  looking  round.  It  was  early  day, 
but  as  yet  the  sun  had  not  made  its  tardy  way  into 
Felt  Street ;  outside  in  the  close  air  children  played 
on  the  cobbles,  their  cries  and  laughter  and  dis- 
putes coming  sharply  audible ;  inside  the  spicy  smell 
mingled  overpoweringly  with  the  heat,  and  Johannes 
high-pitched  voice,  with  its  faint  foreign  intonation, 
sounded  glaringly  real. 

To  the  girl  standing  in  the  shadows  it  seemed  that 
the  circle  of  life  was  complete.  From  the  neutral 
tints  she  had  passed  through  every  graduating  shade 
that  existence  can  possess,  revolving  slowly  past  the 
faint  light  tones  of  hope  and  expectation  to  the  vivid 
colours  of  actual  fulfilment ;  from  the  vivid  colours 
steadily  and  inevitably  forward,  to  be  confronted 
once  again  by  greyness  and  shadow.  She  put  out 
her  hand  and  tentatively  touched  the  bronze  Buddha 
that  still  held  its  place  on  the  second  shelf  behind 
the  set  of  ivory  chessmen.  The  dust  came  off  thickly 
on  her  finger ;  she  raised  her  hand  in  an  unconscious 


270  THE    CIRCLE 

gesture  and  scanned  the  marks ;  then  quite  swiftly 
she  let  her  arm  drop.  The  customer's  purchase  was 
made. 

She  heard  his  last  gossiping  word,  his  lingering 
parting ;  lastly,  his  slow  movements  as  he  passed  her, 
quietly  oblivious  of  her  existence,  and  disappeared 
into  the  street.  With  the  feeling  of  chill  that 
always  assailed  her  in  moments  of  nervousness,  she 
moved  from  the  shadow  and  walked  slowly  into  the 
centre  of  the  shop. 

Johann  had  moved  back  into  the  partitioned  desk ; 
he  saw  through  the  imperfect  glass  that  a  new  figure 
had  come  into  the  shop  ;  with  a  slight  sigh  he  pushed 
back  his  chair. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? "  he  asked  gently. 
His  voice  was  quiet,  his  face,  as  he  turned  it  to- 
wards her,  caught  a  glint  of  light  from  the  street, 
and  with  a  quiver  of  realisation  she  saw  his  features 
distinctly  —  the  patient  eyes,  the  drooping  mouth, 
the  mark  of  the  old  scar  running  from  eyebrow  to 
temple. 

She  laid  her  hand  heavily  on  the  counter. 

He  looked  at  her,  but  without  recognition. 

She  moved  a  little,  and  a  faint  scent  of  violets  was 
carried  to  him  on  the  hot  air.  The  silence  was 
strained. 

He  in  his  turn  shifted  his  position.  "  What  can 
I  do  for  you  ?  *"  he  said  again. 

Her  fingers  pressed  the  counter;  then  quite 
abruptly  she  lifted  her  head. 


THE    CIRCLE  271 

"  One  thing,  Johann.  Forgive  me,  if  it  's  not  toe 
late.11 

Johann  drew  back  against  the  piled-up  uniforms 
that  were  stacked  behind  the  counter,  precisely  as 
other  uniforms  had  been  stacked  in  other  days.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands ;  then  at  last  he 
looked  up.  "  Anna ! "  he  said  in  a  blind  way. 
"  Anna  !  "  At  the  repetition  of  the  word  his  breath 
failed. 

The  girl  bent  forward,  leaning  across  the  counter. 
"  Yes,"  she  said  hurriedly  ;  "  Anna  —  after  all  the 
years,  after  everything.""  She  suddenly  crouched 
lower,  laying  her  face  against  the  shining  wood. 

Twice  he  moved  from  the  pile  of  uniforms  and 
twice  retreated  ;  twice  he  passed  his  hand  agitatedly 
across  his  mouth  ;  then  finally  grasping  his  determi- 
nation, he  came  forward  and  touched  her  shoulder. 

"  There  never  was  anything  to  forgive,""  he  said. 

Her  head  remained  bent.  She  was  not  crying, 
but  a  silent  agitation,  quite  incomprehensible  to  the 
man,  was  shaking  her  almost  as  tears  might  have 
done. 

His  fingers  pressed  her  arm  deprecatingly. 
"Don't!1'  he  said.  "Don't!  It's  all  right,  all 
quite  right." 

She  raised  her  head  and  drew  herself  slowly 
upright ;  then  her  lips  opened  in  silent  surprise. 
Johann's  voice,  low  and  uneven  though  it  was,  had 
not  prepared  her  for  his  altered  face.  The  change 
was  very  marked  ;  even  in  the  dimness  of  the  shop 


272  THE    CIRCLE 

his  sudden  joy  seemed  to  radiate  from  him  and  sur- 
round him  like  a  light ;  the  shadow  was  gone  from 
his  eyes,  even  his  shrunken  figure  had  gained  new 
dignity.  He  carried  himself  soberly,  but  with  the 
pride  of  a  believer  whose  faith  has  been  justified. 

He  looked  at  her  confidently,  as  a  child  might 
have  done ;  then  turned  to  the  desk,  opened  it  and 
drew  out  a  slate ;  this  he  carried  back  and  laid  on 
the  counter. 

"  See ! "  he  said  gently.  "  I  always  knew  — 
always."" 

Anna  glanced  away,  then  turned  again  and  gazed 
at  him  searchingly.  "  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  How  ?  You  wrote  it."  He  pointed  to  the 
slate. 

Anna  turned  and  walked  the  length  of  the  shop. 
There  is  some  faith  before  which  we  stand  aghast. 
At  the  street  door  she  turned  again  and  mored 
slowly  back. 

"  Johann,  there  is  something  I  want  to  say  —  now, 
at  the  very  first."  The  warmth  was  oppressive  ;  she 
passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead.  "  I  'm  not  like 
what  you  think.  I  forgot  —  for  whole  years  I  quite 
forgot ;  even  lately,  when  I  realised,  when  some  one 
told  me  of —  of  him  —  "  She  indicated  the  rooms 
overhead. 

Johann  made  a  step  towards  her,  but  she  warned 
him  back. 

"  When  somebody  told  me  of  him,  and  I  realised, 
even  then  —  even  then,  I  fought  to  the  last  day,  till 


THE    CIRCLE  273 

the  very  last  hour.  It  was  only  then,  Johann,  when 
every  other  way  was  absolutely  barred,  that  I  made 
up  my  mind.  Last  night  I  finished  an  engagement 
here  in  London,  and  after  the  play  I  drove  away  from 
the  theatre  with  my  maid ;  we  stayed  the  night  in  a 
lodging,  and  this  morning  I  paid  her  .and  let  her  go. 
Nobody  knows  what  IVe  done  —  nobody  —  not  a 
single  soul."  She  paused  excitedly  and  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her.  "It's  a  great  comfort  to  talk, 
Johann,  just  to  say  things  to  someone ;  I  have  been 
silent  for  such  a  long,  long  time."  She  passed  back- 
wards and  forwards  across  the  shop. 

Johann's  eyes  never  left  her  face.  "  But  you  are 
glad  to  be  back  ?  Glad  to  be  home  ?  "  His  eager- 
ness trembled  in  his  voice. 

"Of  course!  Of  course ! "  She  turned  to  him 
with  sharp  unnecessary  emphasis;  then,  fearing  to 
pause  on  the  words,  she  went  on  again.  "  I  have 
done  everything  for  the  best,  Johann  —  everything ; 
I  have  broken  faith  with  no  one.  I  have  finished  my 
engagements  to  the  last  night ;  I  have  paid  every 
bill ;  I  have  transferred  all  my  money  from  my  own 
bank  account  to  Mrs.  Maxtead's —  all  except  three 
hundred  pounds  that  I  have  spared  for  him  —  for  him 
and  for  you."  She  glanced  upwards  again.  "  Don't 
you  think,  Johann,  that  any  one  —  that  even  a  very, 
very  strict  person,  with  very  hard  and  strict  ideas, 
would  say  that  I  have  done  well  ?  That  I  have  done 
as  well  as  I  could  do  —  now,  at  the  last?"  She 
waited  anxiously  for  his  reply. 

18 


274  THE    CIRCLE 

He  gazed  at  her  in  faint  bewilderment.  "  Of  course 
you  have  done  well." 

She  laughed  nervously  and  lifted  the  edge  of  her 
hat  where  it  pressed  her  hair.  "  Thanks,  Johann  ! 
I  'm  so  glad.  I  Ve  been  waiting  ages  to  hear  some- 
body say  just  those  words  ;  they  reassure  me  very 
much."  She  leant  back  against  the  counter,  excite- 
ment and  fatigue  showing  in  her  eyes. 

Johann  stepped  towards  her.  "You  are  very 
tired,"  he  said.  "  I  have  never  seen  any  one  look  so 
tired.  Will  you  rest  ?  Will  you  come  upstairs  ? 
Your  own  room  — "  His  tone  was  deprecating. 
"  Your  own  little  room  is  just  as  it  used  to  be  ;  I 
have  cleaned  it  every  day  —  " 

For  an  instant  her  face  paled  and  she  turned 
away  ;  then  she  mastered  herself.  "  Thanks,  Johann  ! 
I  will  see  my  room.  But  first,  don't  you  think  —  ?  " 
Once  more  her  eyes  sought  the  ceiling. 

He  half  extended  his  hand.  "  Oh  no,"  he  said, 
"not  now  —  not  just  now;  you  are  too  tired — " 

She  met  his  gaze  excitedly.  "  Yes,  Johann,  now 
—  now,  this  minute  ;  I  want  everything  in  one  rush ;  I 
want  to  know  the  worst  —  all  the  very  worst.  I  have 
quite,  quite,  quite  finished  with  suspense ;  I  have 
burnt  all  my  stupid  boats  ;  I  shall  never  make  dreams 
about  things  any  more  —  never  any  more  —  "  Her 
voice  rose,  fell,  then  half  broke. 

Johannes  smile  faded  again  to  perplexity ;  he 
moved  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  then  once  more 
he  touched  her  arm. 


THE    CIRCLE  275 

"  But  you  are  glad  to  be  back  ?  You  are  glad  to 
be  home  ?  " 

She  steadied  herself  and  looked  at  him.  "This 
is  the  only  place  in  the  world,  Johann,  that  has 
room  for  me ;  please  believe  that.  Now  we  '11  go 
upstairs." 


PART   THREE— CHAPTER  II 


I 


stairs,  with  their  steep  unevenness, 
had  always  appeared  narrow  ;  to  Anna, 
after  a  lapse  of  eight  years,  they  seemed 
dwarfed.  As  she  mounted  slowly,  her 
right  shoulder  brushed  the  bare  dark  wall,  while 
with  every  slight  movement  her  left  arm  touched 
the  shaky  bannister.  She  followed  Johann  steadily, 
her  lips  set,  her  head  held  very  high  ;  the  same  sup- 
pressed force  that  had  possessed  her  for  four  weeks 
was  discernible  in  every  gesture,  almost  in  every 
breath.  A  very  close  observer  might  have  trembled 
for  the  inevitable  collapse. 

The  woodwork  strained  and  creaked;  a  frill  of 
her  skirt  caught  on  a  nail  and  tore.  Johann  paused 
and  bent,  but  she  anticipated  him,  and,  stooping, 
wrenched  off  the  strip  of  silk.  Then  the  ascent 
went  on. 

On  the  landing  there  was  more  light ;  and  on  the 
landing  for  the  first  time  her  courage  quailed.  She 
put  out  her  hand  and  pulled  Johannes  sleeve 

"  Johann,  what  does  he  look  like  ? "  She  leant 
back  for  a  second  against  the  wall. 

He  raised  his  eyes.  "  Not  terrible  at  all  —  very 
eld  and  very  thin  ;  nothing  more.1' 


THE    CIRCLE  277 

She  drew  in  her  breath  slowly,  her  face  showed 
pale  against  the  blackness  of  the  wall.  "  Will  he 
know  me,  do  you  think  ?  " 

There  was  a  silence. 

"You  are  changed.11    Johann  spoke  with  hesitation. 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  then  looked 
up.  "  I  suppose  I  am ;  it  was  right  to  remind  me. 
Go  into  the  room  first.  I'll  stand  outside  and  see  him 
without  his  seeing  me  ;  afterwards  1 11  decide  what  ""s 
best  to  do.  Now,  Johann,  please  — ""  She  lifted 
her  hat  again  with  the  same  nervous  gesture,  as 
if  it  weighed  upon  her;  and  Johann  crossed  the 
corridor. 

Round  old  Solny's  door  the  shadows  fell  again 
thickly.  As  Johann  touched  the  handle  Anna 
caught  his  arm. 

"  Wait ! "  she  said. 

He  paused  obedient. 

She  moved  back  towards  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
then  retraced  her  steps ;  her  movements  were  uneven 
and  indirect.  "  It 's  a  terrible  moment,  Johann." 

Johann  moved  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

She  leant  back  once  more  against  the  wall  and 
closed  her  eyes ;  at  last  she  straightened  herself. 

"  Now,  Johann,  please  —  "  Her  voice  was  like  an 
echo  of  itself. 

There  was  a  moment  of  suspense,  then  the  door 
swung  open  with  a  creak.  Johann  moved  slowly  for- 
ward, and  Anna,  with  a  feeling  of  dizzy  weakness, 
leant  against  the  lintel  on  the  darker  side. 


278  THE    CIRCLE 

The  room  corresponded  in  size  to  the  parlour 
downstairs  ;  and  the  sun  that  in  the  morning  fell 
full  on  the  back  of  the  house,  was  streaming  through 
the  low  open  window,  causing  the  motes  to  dance 
in  its  shafts.  The  carpetless  floor  was  very  clean  ; 
the  piles  of  books  and  odd-shaped  boxes  stored  on 
window-seat  and  floor  were  arranged  with  an  eye  to 
order ;  and  the  high  bed  with  its  one  upright  occu- 
pant, was  in  itself  an  evidence  of  care.  With  an 
unconscious  thrill  Anna  acknowledged  the  patient 
pathetic  duty  it  all  portrayed;  then  her  senses 
merged  to  one  interest ;  clasping  her  hands,  she 
leant  forward  in  absolute  quiet. 

In  the  narrow  bed,  sitting  stiffly  up,  and  supported 
by  a  bolster  bent  in  two,  sat  old  Solny.  In  the 
bright  sunlight  his  face  had  a  yellow  tinge  ;  the  hol- 
lowness  of  his  cheeks  and  the  bones  in  his  hands 
were  startlingly  noticeable;  across  his  knees,  from 
side  to  side  of  the  bed,  ran  a  deal  board  forming  a 
ledge,  and  raised  upon  this  to  a  tolerable  height  was 
a  card-house,  erected  with  infinite  care.  As  the  door 
opened  he  placed  the  last  card  —a  much-thumbed 
ace  —  and  without  looking  up  raised  his  hand 
warningly. 

Johann  tiptoed  across  the  room  and  stood  beside 
the  bed ;  very  slowly  Solny  raised  his  head  and 
smiled  in  a  vacant  way. 

"Zenia  has  gone  out,"  he  said,  alluding  to  the 
wife  who  had  been  dead  for  more  than  twenty 
years.  "  Zenia  has  gone  out  and  has  left  the 


THE    CIRCLE  279 

little  one  to  me.""  He  indicated  the  other  side  of 
the  bed.  "We  have  been  amusing  each  other; 
I  have  built  her  a  house  of  cards.  Be  careful, 
Johann !  A  house  of  cards  is  easily  upset."" 

Anna's  fingers  dropped  apart. 

Johann  passed  his  hand  across  his  face  and  looked 
fiirtively  towards  the  door.  "  The  day  is  fine,  mas- 
ter. Will  you  get  up  and  sit  by  the  window  ?  " 

Solny  eyed  him  meditatively.  ''Perhaps,"  he 
said  "Perhaps  —  when  Zenia  returns.  Till  then 
I  will  stay  like  this.  I  am  tired  —  and  beside,  it  is 
easier  to  amuse  the  little  one  from  here.  There  is 
too  much  sun  in  the  window ;  it  makes  me  want  to 
sleep,  and  that  would  never  do.  Would  it,  little 
one  ? "  He  put  out  his  arm  with  a  pitifully  gentle 
motion  and  appeared  to  touch  something  —  a  head 
or  a  hand  visible  to  him  alone. 

"  She  grows,  Johann,  eh  ? " 

Johann  shuffled  with  his  feet. 

"  She  grows  ?  She  will  be  tall  —  as  tall  as  he/ 
mother,  but  never  so  beautiful." 

"  She  will  be  very  tall,  master." 

"  So  !  "  Solny  nodded  once  or  twice  and  quietlj 
altered  the  top  storey  of  his  card-house.  From  long 
practice  he  had  brought  the  feat  of  balancing  to 
much  perfection  ;  though  of  late  there  were  mo- 
ments when  even  the  pasteboard  squares  seemed 
too  heavy  for  his  emaciated  hands,  and  he  was 
forced  to  rest  many  times  before  even  the  simplest 
*;nu'tnr»?  was  complete. 


280  THE    CIRCLE 

Anna's  heart  contracted  as  she  watched.  The 
wofully  thin  wrists,  the  aged  face  from  which  all 
the  old  querulousness  had  departed,  cut  deeper  and 
surer  than  any  spoken  reproach. 

Arranging  the  cards  with  slow  deliberation,  he 
began  to  talk  again,  raising  his  eyes  from  time  to 
time  to  his  listener's  face. 

"  A  child  is  a  responsibility,  Johann.  •  We  often 
talk  of  that  —  Zenia  and  I.  We  see  her  here  a 
baby  —  able  to  smile  and  eat  and  cry,  and  no 
more ;  and  yet,  Johann,  one  day  —  one  day  not 
so  very  far  away  — "  His  interest  flagged ;  his 
voice  faltered ;  then  he  looked  up  freshly,  his  un- 
balanced mind  swinging  to  a  fresh  point. 

"  The  country  ?  "  he  said  suddenly.  "  How  does 
the  country  look  to-day  ?  I  see  so  little  from  my 
window  — just  the  black  tree-trunks  of  the  verandah, 
and  beyond,  the  purple  and  crimson  of  the  plums  and 
the  cherries,  and  I  want  more,  Johann,  I  want  to 
see  more.1"  He  took  up  a  card,  straightened  it  and 
laid  it  in  place.  "I  want  to  see  the  land  curve 
up  and  down.  I  want  to  see  the  maples  in  full 
leaf  and  the  steppe  grass  swinging  in  the  wind 
till  the  star-thistles  show.  That 's  what  I  want, 
Johann  —  that 's  what  makes  the  blood  flow. "  He 
smiled  again  uncertainly ;  then  a  still  newer  expres- 
sion flitted  over  his  eyes. 

"  The  window-shutters  ?  "  he  said.  "  Are  the 
window-shutters  in  repair,  should  a  storm  break  ? " 

Anna  put  her  hand  to  her  throat.     The  still  air 


THE    CIRCLE  281 

seemed  to  stagnate.  She  felt  enmeshed  in  an  over- 
powering dream. 

"  Have  you  seen  to  the  window-shutters,  Johann  ?  " 

Johann  turned  away.  "  Not  yet,  master  —  not  as 
yet.  Later,  if  you  wish  —  " 

Solny  raised  his  hand  gently.  "  You  must  never 
neglect  your  duty,  Johann.  Duty  is  the  great  pre- 
cept. We  must  set  an  example  to  the  little  Anna 
—  we  three  ;  soon  she  will  be  big  enough  to  under- 
stand. Eh,  little  one  ? "  He  extended  his  hand 
afresh,  and  his  vague  eyes  suddenly  filled  with 
tears.  "  She  is  the  little  sunbeam,  Johann,  eh  ? 
Even  in  the  long  winter  she  will  make  a  light  ? " 

Johann  said  nothing.  From  the  shadows  in  the 
passage  came  a  rustling  stir. 

"  What  is  that  ?  Is  that  Zenia  ?  "  Solny  started 
up,  and  the  card-house  fell;  then  he  sank  weakly 
back. 

Johann  laid  his  hand  soothingly  on  the  coverlet. 
"  It  is  nothing,  master  —  nothing  —  the  cat  after  a 
mouse."  His  words  were  disjointed.  In  great  trepi- 
dation he  walked  across  the  room.  As  he  stepped 
hurriedly  on  to  the  landing  and  drew  the  door  to, 
Solny's  voice  came  again,  wavering  and  plaintive. 

"  Johann,  I  want  Zenia.     I  want  my  wife."" 


PART  THREE— CHAPTER  III 

IN  the  corridor  Anna  caught  Johann's  arm  and 
drew  him  to  the  head  of  the  rickety  stairs. 
There   she  released   him,  and   stood   leaning 
against  the  bannister.     Her  face  was  without 
colour  and  her  eyes  looked  dark.     It  was  a  moment 
before  she  spoke ;  then  her  voice  sounded   distant 
and  subdued. 

"  Johann,"  she  said,  "  he  is  dying.  I  know  it 
perfectly  well.  I  have  never  seen  death,  but  I  know 
it  —  I  can  feel  it.  His  face  is  like  a  lamp  with  the 
wick  dying  down.  It 's  terrible  !  Terrible  !  " 

Johann's   face    paled.     "  I   see    no   change,""   he 
stammered.     "  He  has  looked  like  that  for  months 
and  months.     He  is  a  little  thinner,  perhaps  —  a 
little  weaker,  but  it  is  nothing  to  count.1" 
Anna  threw  up  her  head. 

"  That's  it!  That's  it!  You  see  him  every 
day ;  you  don't  mark  the  little  changes  —  the  little 
signs.  Why  did  nobody  tell  me?  Why  did  no- 
body send  for  me  ?  It  was  n't  right ;  it  was  n't 
kind."  She  swayed  a  little  to  and  fro. 

Johann  stood  in  an  agony  of  perplexity.  "  It  is 
because  of  his  mind,"  he  urged  at  last ;  "  because  of 
the  difference  between  what  he  thinks  and  what  he 


THE    CIRCLE  283 

looks.  He  believes  himself  a  young  man,  married  a 
few  years,  still  in  his  home  in  Russia.  It  is  because 
of  the  difference  —  the  strangeness  of  the  difference 
-  that  you  see  him  as  you  do.  Anna,  believe 
me  — '  He  used  her  name  in  perturbed  haste. 

She  made  an  excited  gesture.  "  I  see  just  the 
truth  — just  the  plain  terrible  truth.  I  must  go  to 
him  at  once." 

Johann  started  forward,  putting  out  his  hand. 
"  But  the  shock  to  him  and  to  you,"  he  said.  "  You 
are  so  changed."  He  looked  at  her  with  swift,  mute 
admiration.  "  You  are  so  —  so  very  changed." 

She  pushed  past  him.  "  He  must  know  me, 
Johann.  He  is  my  father." 

"  But  your  dress  —  your  face  ?  " 

"  My  dress !  My  dress  is  black  —  he  will  see 
nothing  beyond  that.  As  for  my  face,  I  can  take 
off  my  hat  —  it  is  my  hat  that  makes  the  difference.1* 
With  shaking  fingers  she  drew  out  her  hat-pins. 

Johann  cleared  his  throat.  "  But  if  he  doesn't 
know  you  ?  " 

"  He  must  know  me." 

«  But  if  he  does  n't?" 

"  Well  ?  "     She  threw  her  hat  aside. 

"You  won't  —  ?  It  won't  —  ?"  In  his  fear 
and  anxiety  for  her  he  drew  nearer  by  a  step. 

She  had  moved  on  into  the  shadows,  but  she  turned 
shortly.  "  Oh,  I  'm  not  thinking  of  myself,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  moment  of  strung  suspense ;  then  she 
moved  forward  and  the  door  of  the  bedroom  creaked. 


284  THE    CIRCLE 

For  an  appreciable  time  Johann  and  Anna  stood 
side  by  side  in  the  open  doorway.  For  an  instant 
Johann  shut  his  eyes,  but  for  an  instant  only.  The 
fear  of  seeing  was  outweighed  by  the  fear  of  not  see- 
ing. He  raised  his  lids  gradually,  and  stood  with 
suspended  breath. 

The  light  from  the  early  day  encircled  the  whole 
room.  There  were  no  shadows,  no  dark  corners 
suggestive  of  suspense.  To  the  dimmest  eye  all  that 
there  was  to  see  was  seen  at  once  —  sharp,  uncom- 
promising, and  plain. 

Anna  stood  for  an  instant  longer.  Her  head  was 
at  its  highest,  her  resolution  strained  almost  to 
defiance.  Once  Johann  heard  her  gasp  ;  then,  with 
great  rapidity,  she  moved  straight  forward  and 
paused  silently  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

The  wait  that  followed  was  momentous.  Solny 
raised  himself,  staring  with  dim  eyes.  The  silence 
was  dead  in  its  intensity.  The  remaining  cards  slid 
one  after  the  other  from  the  coverlet  to  the  floor  — 
each  one  dropping  with  the  sound  of  rain  on  a 
zinc  roof.  Johann  moistened  his  lips  and  looked 
towards  Anna.  She  was  still  rigid,  her  eyes  on  her 
father's  eyes. 

Solny  raised  himself  further :  his  worn  face  had  a 
greenish  hue  ;  his  limbs  shook  ;  in  his  glance  there 
was  question  —  question  and  nothing  more. 

Anna's  lips  formed  themselves  to  speak  ;  but  all 
at  once,  as  ice  might  break,  a  light  showed  in  the 
old  man's  face :  it  flared  for  a  second,  then  the  ter- 


THE    CIRCLE  285 

ji'^le  vague  solemnity  of  the  features  suddenly 
i  elaxed.  With  a  broken  sound  that  was  neither  cry 
nor  entreaty,  and  yet  partook  of  both,  he  held  out 
his  arms. 

"  Zenia !  "  he  said ;  "  my  wife ! "  I 

Johannes  feelings  burst  from  him  in  an  inarticulate 
word.  Anna  made  no  sound. 

Solny's  voice  rose  again.  "My  wife!"  he  said. 
"  Zenia ! "  His  speech  had  a  new  ring  :  it  carried 
and  vibrated  with  an  inflection  that  neither  listener 
had  heard  before. 

Still  in  silence  Anna  moved  forward.  Her  face 
was  drawn,  but  she  moved  on ;  her  steps  dragged, 
but  never  faltered ;  slowly  she  passed  round  the  bed. 

Johaun,  by  the  door,  felt  a  lump  rise  in  his  throat. 

Solny  still  held  out  his  arms,  the  new  light  illu- 
mining his  face.  "  My  wife ! "  he  said  again. 

There  was  a  faint  interval  —  a  faint  hesitation,  as 
if  all  existence  hung  in  wait.  Above  the  bed  a  fly 
whizzed  in  a  cobweb ;  through  the  window  came  the 
hum  of  distant  voices,  the  sound  of  carts  on  the 
cobbles  of  Enbury  Street.  Anna  hung  back,  swayed 
forward,  then  was  caught  in  her  father's  arms. 

No  one  spoke,  for  there  was  no  room  for  speech ; 
but  very  quietly,  almost  reverently,  Johann  withdrew, 
closing  the  door. 

At  the  same  moment,  sharp  and  imperative,  the 
shop  bell  rang  through  tire  house. 


PART   THREE—  CHAPTER 


JOHANN  descended  the  stairs  slowly.  Tense 
and  vividly  surprising  as  the  scene  upstairs 
had  been,  his  mind,  once  beyond  its  atmos- 
phere, was  speedily  engrossed  by  other  thoughts. 
The  strange  possibilities  opened  up  by  Solny's  hal- 
lucination seemed  to  his  simple  mind  to  be  in  some 
sense  predestined  —  a  curious  compensating  arrange- 
ment planned  from  the  first  by  Fate,  to  be  left  with 
all  confidence  in  Fate's  hands.  To  him  personally 
one  fact  —  one  pressing  fact  —  rose  above  all  life, 
dominating  it  —  the  fact  that  Anna  had  returned. 
As  a  child,  he  had  loved  her  with  the  vague  spec- 
ulative adoration  of  a  romantic  mind  ;  as  a  mythical 
being  removed  from  him  by  the  world  and  yet  be- 
longing to  his  life,  he  had  worshipped  her  as  a  saint  ; 
now  for  the  first  time  he  saw  her  as  a  woman,  and 
his  brain  swam.  She  was  his  to  shelter  and  slave  for 
and  wait  upon  —  his  to  hold  against  all  the  world. 
His  love  welled  up,  brimming,  overflowing.  For  the 
first  time  in  years  his  eyes  looked  on  life  from  a 
personal  standpoint.  His  blood  quickened,  and  he 
straightened  himself,  casting  off  the  stoop  that  a 
decade  of  disappointment  and  self-effacement  had 
added  to  his  deformity.  But  at  the  door  leading 


THE    CIRCLE  287 

into  the  shop  he  halted,  and  subdued  his  expression ; 
his  triumph  was  too  new  an  acquisition  to  be  shared. 

In  the  shop  a  man  was  standing  with  his  back  to 
the  counter;  even  in  the  imperfect  light  his  figure 
showed  erect  and  talL  As  Johann  entered  he 
started  forward,  and  in  three  steps  reached  his  side. 

Johann  looked  up,  his  face  lighting  with  surprise. 
"  Good-day,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  carefully  subdued 
voice. 

"  Good-day ?     Strode's  voice  was  level  and  concise. 

"  You  are  back  in  town,  sir  ?  ""  Johann  strove  to 
seem  usual.  At  sight  of  a  friend  his  triumph  beat 
up  afresh,  so  strong  and  assertive  that  he  almost 
feared  it ;  but  the  danger  passed.  His  was  not  a 
chance  fact  to  be  flung  at  the  head  of  even  a  friend ; 
it  was  a  precious  truth,  to  be  treasured  secretly  and 
doled  out  carefully  when  the  time  came.  He  longed 
inordinately  to  hear  Strode's  steady  voice  quicken 
with  surprise  and  congratulation  ;  but  meanwhile  the 
hidden  knowledge  was  very  sweet. 

"  You  are  back  in  town,  sir  ? ""  he  said  again. 

Strode  was  silent.  Together  they  moved  to  the 
counter,  and  Johann  passed  inside.  The  younger 
man  walked  a  step  or  two  into  the  shop,  then 
turned  sharply.  He  came  back  to  his  former  place ; 
but  this  time  he  faced  the  counter,  and  leaning  for- 
ward, placed  his  elbows  on  it.  His  face  looked  older 
by*  several  degrees  than  it  had  done  the  night  before ; 
his  skin  still  gave  the  curious  impression  of  pallor 
under  tan ;  but  his  eyes  had  never  been  more  clear. 


288  THE    CIRCLE 

"  Look  here,1"  he  said  at  last ;  "  I  have  n't  come 
to  talk.  I  've  come  to  tell  you  something  and  ask 
you  something;  and  there's  one  fact  I  want  you 
to  keep  in  mind  ;  that  first  to  last  I  'm  treating  you 
level  —  treating  you  man  to  man.""  He  took  off  his 
hat  and  laid  it  on  the  counter ;  his  manner  was  very 
quiet. 

Johann  was  puzzled ;  he  even  felt  a  momentary 
compunction  at  his  own  irrepressible  happiness.  He 
leant  back  against  the  glass  of  the  desk,  the  shadows 
of  the  woodwork  falling  heavily  about  his  face.  "  It 
would  be  strange  if  I  thought  differently,  sir,11  he 
said ;  "  you  have  always  been  like  that."" 

Strode's  eyes  tried  to  pierce  the  gloom.  "  I  'm 
glad  you  think  so.  It  makes  it  easier  for  me  to  start." 
He  moved  slightly,  but  the  expression  of  his  face  did 
not  change.  "  It  's  about  your  master's  daughter." 

A  shock  of  feeling  ran  through  Johann,  raising 
wild  echoes,  touching  unguessed  depths.  He  passed 
his  hand  carefully  across  his  mouth. 

"  The  master's  daughter ! "  He  was  no  actor ;  but 
love  and  the  instinct  of  self  can  make  a  man  any- 
thing. All  his  new  emotions  leaped  in  surprise  and 
fear ;  he  drew  farther  back  into  the  dusk. 

Strode  watched  him  eagerly »  but  the  light  was  im- 
possible. "  Some  men,"  he  said  at  length,  "  would 
feel  justified  in  coming  here  and  springing  a  question 
on  you ;  in  another  circumstance  I  'd  probably  feel 
justified  myself,  but  not  in  this.  I've  always  felt 
tli.ifc  Fate  has  played  you  a  good  many  shabby  tricks, 


THE    CIRCLE  289 

and  somehow  —  somehow  I  'd  rather  not  copy  Fate.11 
He  stopped  and  smoothed  his  hair. 

Johann  waited  in  fascinated  quiet. 

"To  come  to  the  point,  things  stand  like  this. 
Some  time  ago  I  met  your  master's  daughter,  where 
or  how  does  n't  signify ;  anyhow,  I  admired  her  — 
she  liked  me — and  we  became  friends."  For  the 
first  time  Strode  spoke  fast.  "  For  some  weeks  she 
has  been  acting  here  in  town  at  the  'Corinthian' 
Theatre.  Last  night  she  finished  her  engagement, 
and  last  night,  after  the  play  was  over,  she  did  n't 
come  home  as  usual  to  the  house  where  she  was 
staying  —  she  disappeared,  you  understand.'1  He 
leant  forward  and  scanned  the  other's  face  ;  his  man- 
ner was  very  still,  but  the  muscles  showed  in  his 
hands  as  they  had  done  the  night  before. 

Johann  never  stirred. 

Strode's  glance  concentrated.  "  Say  something  ! ** 
he  exclaimed  suddenly.  "  Don't  hang  back  like  that. 
Have  n't  you  anything  to  say  ?  " 

Johann  gathered  his  ideas  with  difficulty.  "  What 
am  I  to  say,  sir  ?  For  us  she  disappeared  eight 
years  ago." 

Strode  raised  himself :  he  seemed  to  find  his  next 
sentence  difficult.  He  began  it  twice,  each  time  in 
a  different  form  ;  then  breaking  off  short,  he  started 
for  the  third  time,  and  very  fast. 

"Perhaps  I've  not  made  matters  clear  enough." 
Again  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  hair.  "  We 
—  Mrs.  Maxtead  and  her  other  friends  —  we  are 

19 


2SO  THE    CIRCLE 

anxious  —  we  are  desperately  anxious  —  "  For  the 
first  time  he  stressed  his  words,  for  the  first  time  the 
raging  eagerness  beneath  showed  through  his  calm. 

Johannes  lips  closed  slowly  ;  he  glanced  apprehen- 
sively at  the  parlour  door.  "  Why  are  her  friends  so 
very  anxious  ?  "  was  all  he  said. 

Strode  straightened  his  shoulders.  "  Because  for 
weeks  she  has  been  in  great  trouble  —  great  mental 
trouble.  Can^t  you  grasp  what  I  'm  driving  at  ?  " 
He  suddenly  lifted  his  head.  "A  woman  like  that 
does  n't  take  such  a  step  without  very  goading  rea- 
sons. With  such  a  woman  very  goading  reasons 
might  drive  to  —  to  anything.1'  He  stopped. 

Johannes  mind  was  working  hard.  Suspense  is  an 
unyielding  power.  "  Once,"  he  said  shrewdly,  "  you 
did  n't  speak  so  of  the  master's  daughter ;  once  you 
were  bitter  when  you  spoke  of  her." 

Strode  made  an  impatient  sound.  "  Once  ! "  he 
said.  "  Oh,  it 's  easy  to  have  been  bitter  —  once." 
He  moved  again  into  the  middle  of  the  shop. 

"  And  now  —  ?  "  For  the  universe  Johann  could 
not  have  restrained  the  words. 

"Now  — I  love  her." 

Johann  turned  rigid ;  the  voice  sank  through  his 
consciousness  like  running  lead. 

Strode  wheeled  back  to  the  counter  and  to  his 
former  place.  He  glanced  as  before  at  his  com- 
panion's face  ;  but  either  the  surge  of  individual 
feeling  dulled  his  gaze,  or  Johann  was  more  inscru- 
table than  ever,  for  he  observed  nothing. 


THE    CIRCLE  291 

"  That 's  what  I  call  being  straight  with  you,"  he 
said.  "  There 's  no  need  to  tell  you  that  I  love  her, 
but  I  want  to ;  it  seems  more  fair.  She  sort  of 
belonged  here,  and  you  Ve  a  claim  to  know.  I  love 
her  in  the  right  way  —  in  the  way  that  holds.  I  Ve 
loved  her  since  I  saw  her  first." 

Johann  moistened  his  lips.  "And  she?  Does 
she  love  you  ?  " 

Strode  looked  towards  the  street.  "  That,"  he 
said  quietly,  "  we  won't  discuss.  We  11  let  it  stand 
that  I  love  her." 

"  We  all  do  that,"  said  Johann  fiercely. 

Strode  looked  slowly  back.  "  I  expect  you  're 
about  right,"  he  said. 

For  a  moment  he  stayed  silent,  his  hands  on  the 
counter,  but  only  for  a  moment.  With  a  sharp 
upward  glance  he  began  to  speak  again. 

"  Now  that  I  Ve  been  square,  1 11  come  to  the 
point.  Is  she  here  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause,  but  a  pause  no  bigger  than  a 
breathing  space.  Johann  looked  down,  then  looked 
up  ;  all  through  his  body  his  nerves  twitched.  His 
eyes  rose  slowly,  and  slowly  rested  on  his  companion's 
face.  In  the  uncertain  light  Strode's  features  showed 
finely  cut  and  strong.  His  grey  eyes  were  alert ; 
about  his  mouth  anxiety  and  courage  had  set  new 
and  firmer  lines  ;  in  every  detail  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  two  men  was  cruel  and  sharp.  Johann 
looked  long  and  steadily,  the  contrast  sinking  into 
his  mind  very  deep ;  then,  like  a  river  long  retarded 


292  THE    CIRCLE 

or  a  wind  suddenly  loosed,  all  his  love  so  repressed, 
so  stored  up,  broke  upon  him  in  a  flood.  For  the 
first  time  he  understood  jealousy  in  all  its  ungovern- 
able force.  He  looked  his  questioner  up  and  down, 
then  he  answered  steadily  enough. 

"  I  have  not  seen  the  master's  daughter  for  eight 
years." 

Strode  paled  noticeably,  then  rallied  his  courage. 
"  Then  she  has  written,"  he  said  confidently.  "  She 
must  have  written.  Speak  out,  man  !  Don't  keep 
me  in  suspense." 

Johann's  eyes  dropped.  "  No,  sir ;  she  has  not 
written." 

Strode  walked  to  the  shop  door,  then  back  again. 

'*  You  're  treating  me  straight  ?  As  straight  as  I 
treated  you?" 

Johann  nodded. 

Strode  passed  his  hand  once  again  over  his  hair ; 
for  the  moment  he  felt  at  bay.  "  I  'm  not  calling 
you  a  liar,"  he  said  at  last ;  "  but  there  are  times 
when  a  man  doubts  even  himself.  Will  you  swear 
to  me,  God's  truth,  that  what  you  've  said  is  true  ?  " 

Johann  returned  his  glance.  "  God's  truth  !  "  he 
said,  and  his  tongue  clicked  against  the  roof  of  his 
mouth. 

For  an  interval  neither  spoke.  The  elder  moved 
uneasily  from  foot  to  foot ;  the  younger  stood  quite 
still  At  last  the  latter  drew  out  a  card,  wrote  on  it, 
and  laid  it  on  the  counter. 

"I've  left  my  club,"  he  said;  "I'll  be  at  these 


THE    CIRCLE  293 

rooms  indefinitely.  Come  to  me  at  any  time  —  any 
hour.  Sooner  or  later  she  must  come  here;  I'm 
certain  of  that." 

He  picked  up  his  hat,  turned  abruptly,  and  walked 
to  the  door.  Under  the  low  arch  he  stopped  and 
looked  back. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "you  know  what  a  shred 
of  news  would  have  meant  to  you — eight  years 
ago." 

Johann  answered  nothing ;  but  nodding  slowly,  he 
picked  up  the  card. 


PART   THREE  —  CHA P TEE    V 

WHEN    Strode  left    the    shop,  Johann 
wiped   his  forehead,  breathed  deeply, 
and,  leaning  back  against  the  parti- 
tion of  the  desk,  stood  for  a  long  time 
in  perfect  quiet.     The  stifling  heat  of  the  day,  made 
m»re  oppressive  in   the  narrow  street,  insured  him 
against  further  customers ;  he  had  nothing  beyond 
his   own   disturbed   thoughts   to   harass   his   mind. 
Once  only  he  changed  his  position,  and  then  it  was 
to  hide  Strode's  card  in  an  inner  pocket.     Having 
done  this,  he  returned  to  his  huddled  attitude,  gazing 
with  blank  eyes  at  the  space  of  counter  with  its  shin- 
ing wood. 

After  half  an  hour  of  sultry  quiet  there  was  a  sound 
in  the  parlour ;  with  a  jerk  he  started  upright,  a  dull 
red  passing  over  his  face  and  dying  slowly  out. 
When  the  door  opened,  and  Anna  came  into  the 
shop,  he  had  regained  his  usual  look  of  suppressed 
quiet. 

Her  face  was  still  pale,  though  not  with  the»marred 
pallor  of  tears ;  her  hair  was  ruffled,  and  her  eyelids 
looked  heavy  and  dark.  Without  a  word  she  came 
across  the  dividing  space  and  sat  down  on  an  old 
leather  trunk. 


THE    CIRCLE  295 

"  He  is  asleep  now,"  she  said ;  "  but  he  looks  so 
thin  —  so  terribly  thin.  I  was  afraid  to  watch  him 
any  more." 

Johann  took  a  frayed  cushion  from  a  shelf  and 
shook  off  the  dust. 

"  All  old  people  look  like  that  when  they  are 
asleep."1  He  came  round  the  counter.  "  Sit  on  this  ; 
it  will  be  more  comfortable.11 

She  took  the  cushion,  but  made  no  effort  to 
rise. 

"  Do  they,  Johann  —  always  ?  " 

"  Always.11 

She  sighed,  only  half  satisfied,  and  the  anxious 
look  lingered  in  her  eyes.  At  last  she  glanced 
up. 

"  Is  n't  it  like  the  irony  of  life,  to  come  back  too 
late?  Isn't  it  dealing  out  retribution  to  an  inch, 
that  I,  who  forgot  my  father,  should  be  forgotten 
by  him  ?  " 

Johann  touched  her  shoulder  hastily.  "  Be  pa- 
tient," he  said ;  "  be  patient  a  little.  To-morrow 
—  in  a  few  days  —  he  will  know  you.11 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  he  will  never  know 
me  —  never  —  never.  I  feel  it  through  and  through, 
I  know  it.11  She  clasped  her  hands. 

Johann's  lips  tightened  apprehensively.  "  But 
you  are  glad  to  be  back?  You  are  glad  to  be 
home?"  He  searched  her  face. 

"  Of  course,  Johann  ;  of  course.11  She  put  out  her 
hand  and  half  touched  his  ;  then  she  suddenly  rose, 


296  THE    CIRCLE 

and  walking  across  the  shop,  stood  by  the  opposite 
shelves. 

Johannes  eyes  devoured  her. 

Presently,  with  her  face  averted,  she  spoke  again. 
"  Johann,"  she  said,  "  I  have  been  missed  by  now  ; 
my  friends  must  be  looking  for  me.  Some  of  them  " 
—  she  stopped  for  an  instant  —  "  just  a  very  few  of 
them  know  of  this  place  ;  and  it 's  possible  —  not 
very  likely,  but  possible  —  that  some  of  them  —  one 
of  them  may  come  here."  She  spoke  very  fast. 

Johann  felt  his  breath  catch.  "  You  mean  the 
woman  who  took  you  away  ? "" 

She  coloured  suddenly.     "  I  mean  —  any  one." 

There  was  an  uneasy  wait ;  then  she  looked  up. 
"  Should  they  come,  Johann  —  should  any  one 
come,  you  will  tell  me  at  once  ? " 

The  heat  in  the  shop  was  excessive ;  Johann 
wiped  his  forehead  afresh.  "Yes,  I  will  tell  you." 

His  tone  struck  her ;  she  moved  a  little  towards 
him.  "  No  one  has  come  ?  No  one  has  come  while 
I  have  been  upstairs  ?  " 

"  No."  He  felt  his  tongue  rasp  as  it  had  done 
when  Strode  put  him  on  his  oath,  but  his  voice 
came  steadily  enough. 

"  You  are  sure  ?     Quite  sure  ?  " 

He  moved  uncertainly,  deprecation  and  pain  pass- 
ing over  his  face. 

Misreading  his  glance,  she  moved  towards  him  with 
swift  compunction.  "  Johann,  forgive  me ;  please 
forgive  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  doubt." 


THE    CIRCLE  297 

There  was  a  fresh  pause.  Johann  picked  up  the 
cushion  from  where  it  had  fallen  and  placed  it  on 
the  trunk.  Anna  sat  down  again  wearily,  resting 
against  the  counter. 

"  It  is  so  hot,""  she  said,  "  and  my  head  aches  ;  I 
had  no  sleep  last  night." 

He  watched  her  jealously  as  she  leant  back 
with  shut  eyes.  "  Will  you  eat  ? "  he  suggested 
nervously. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Will  you  drink  some  tea?  You  used  to  like 
the  tea."  In  his  eagerness  his  fingers  twitched. 

She  lifted  her  lids;  for  the  first  time  since  her 
arrival  she  smiled,  though  the  smile  was  very 
shadowy  and  weak. 

Johannes   heart   bounded,   and  his   face    flushed. 

"  Will  you,  please  ?  " 

She  looked  slowly  up.  "  It  sounds  nice,"  she  said. 
"  I  thought  I  should  never  want  to  eat  again  ;  but  a 
real  Russian  cup  of  tea." 

He  came  forward  ;  his  eyes  almost  shone.  In  his 
face  deference  and  adoration,  awe  and  eagerness,  all 
strove  for  place.  "  It  will  only  be  one  moment,"  he 
said;  "one  moment  and  no  more.  The  kettle 
always  waits." 

She  tried  to  smile  again,  but  with  small  success. 
"  You  must  n't  spoil  me,  Johann." 

His  face  glowed.  He  moved  laggingly  towards 
the  parlour  door,  and  with  his  hand  on  the  curtain, 
paused. 


298  THE    CIRCLE 

"  And  you  are  glad  to  be  home  ?  "  The  question 
was  irrepressible,  it  had  sunk  into  his  brain ;  in  an 
hour  it  had  become  the  key-stone  of  his  being,  the 
symbol  of  hope  and  of  apprehension,  of  perfect  joy 
and  complete  fear.  He  asked  it  with  his  soul  in  his 
voice. 

It  struck  to  Anna's  heart  with  a  chill.  She  shiv- 
ered slightly  in  the  heat  of  the  shop  ;  the  heavy 
spicy  smell,  the  breathless  atmosphere,  the  cramped 
musty  house,  all  crushed  her  tangibly.  A  sharp 
terror  of  the  future  assailed  her  ;  a  horrible  sense  of 
captivity.  She  rose  again. 

"  Johann,"  she  said,  "  don't  ask  me  any  more ; 
I  'm  not  capable  of  answering  —  not  capable  of 
understanding  even,  just  now.  I  'm  like  a  clock 
that 's  wound  up  to  its  highest  pitch :  sometime  I 
may  run  down,  but  now  I  'm  strung  up  —  wound 
up,  and  everything  I  do  corresponds  to  that."  She 
stood  by  the  counter,  where  Strode  had  stood,  look- 
ing fixedly  before  her. 

**  Some  time  ago,  Johann,  I  saw  myself  for  the 
first  time,  as  I  really  am  —  selfish,  thoughtless, 
hateful." 

He  moved  forward  in  dismay,  but  she  motioned 
him  back. 

"  No ;  let  me  go  on.  I  saw  myself  masquerad- 
ing in  unfair  success  —  a  fraud  that  people  would 
despise  if  they  really  understood  —  a  fraud  tolerated 
through  ignorance.  I  saw  that  the  world  had  no  real 
place  for  me,  so  I  left  the  world  ;  I  felt  that  my  duty 


THE    CIRCLE  299 

was  here,  so  I  came  here.  As  yet,  I  'm  glad  of  nothing 
and  I  regret  nothing  —  I  feel  nothing.  I  'm  like  the 
miracle-worker  waiting  for  a  sign."  She  tried  to 
laugh. 

Johann  caught  at  her  last  words.  "  Waiting  ?  " 
he  said.  "Waiting  for  what?" 

She  looked  towards  the  outer  door.  "  Nothing," 
she  said. 

The  suspicious  spark  gleamed  again  in  his  eyes. 
"  It  is  impossible  to  wait  for  nothing." 

She  glanced  back  at  him.  "  There  you  are  quite 
wrong,  Johann ;  half  the  women  in  the  world  wait 
for  it  till  they  die." 

Johann,  still  unsatisfied,  lingered  by  the  curtain. 
"  If  there  was  something  I  could  do  for  you  —  " 

She  looked  at  him  kindly.  "There  are  two 
things,  Johann.  Ask  me  no  questions  and  give  me 
plenty  of  work.  Those  two  kindnesses  have  kept 
many  people  sane." 

Johann  eyed  her  in  troubled  silence.  Then  after 
an  interval,  still  troubled  and  still  silent,  he  with- 
drew. 

She  dropped  into  her  former  seat  and  took  her  face 
between  her  hands. 


PART  THREE— CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  a  full  week  later,  and  again  the  sun  was 
streaming  into  Solny's  room.     The  furniture 
was  unchanged,  but  the  room  itself  had  been 
brightened  with  flowers  :  pots  of  roses  in  lull 
bloom  stood  on  the  dressing-table  and  on  the  little 
table  by  the  bed,  and  there  were  lilies  on  the  window- 
seat.     The  sweet  strong  scent,  mingling   with   the 
sun  from  the  open  window,  gave  a  strange  effect  of 
fragrance  in  the  dingy  place. 

Anna  knelt  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  her  arm  round 
her  father's  neck.  It  was  the  attitude  that  pleased 
him  best  and  gave  most  ease  to  his  shaken  mind  ; 
and  for  hours  of  each  day,  since  the  morning  of  her 
return,  she  had  been  content  to  stay  patiently  and 
almost  silently  in  the  cramped  position  —  her  atti- 
tude unchanging,  her  eyes  on  the  opposite  wall. 

To-day  he  was  more  still  than  usual.  Some 
minutes  before,  the  doctor,  called  in  by  Anna  on 
her  first  day,  had  made  his  visit ;  and  then,  for  an 
appreciable  space,  he  had  brightened,  suffering  the 
superficial  examination  without  demur ;  but  almost 
at  once  he  had  fallen  back  into  his  lethargy  of  calm, 
his  hand  resting  contentedly  in  the  girl's,  his  ey> 
closed. 


THE    CIRCLE  301 

The  incident  was  a  mere  mark  in  the  passage  of 
events  ;  for  day  by  day  he  weakened,  day  by  day  he 
sank  a  little,  grew  a  degree  more  childish,  a  degree 
easier  of  management.  Sometimes  Anna  caught  her- 
self wishing  that  the  task  of  nursing  was  harder, 
that  more  self-sacrifice,  more  active  self-effacement 
were  asked  of  her ;  but  the  silent  decline  went  on 
without  a  pause  —  scarcely  discernible  to  the  most 
watchful  eye,  but  all  the  more  unmerciful  in  its  cer- 
tain steps. 

One  day  he  would  take  his  scanty  portion  of  food 
less  well  than  the  day  before.  Anna  would  look  at 
Johann,  and  Johann  would  answer  the  look  before  it 
could  spring  to  words.  "  The  appetite  is  always 
uncertain,11  he  would  say,  "  even  in  the  young — how 
much  'more  in  the  old  ! "  And  Anna  would  smile  a 
little,  half-heartedly  reassured. 

Next  day  the  patient  would  sleep  more  heavily 
than  usual,  and  for  hours  at  a  time,  being  roused 
with  difficulty  to  take  his  nourishment ;  and  Anna, 
^-he  only  other  occupant  of  the  silent  room,  would 
uddenly  feel  her  courage  fail,  suddenly  be  seized 
A'ith  a  great  dread  of  the  gaunt  figure  with  its 
emaciated  hands  and  thin  eyelids  through  which  the 
veins  showed,  and  rushing  to  the  stairs  would  call 
repeatedly  for  Johann.  Sometimes  Johann  was  in 
the  kitchen  and  would  hear.  Then,  stumbling  in  his 
eagerness,  he  would  come  up  the  narrow  stairs  two 
steps  at  once,  and  the  girl,  suddenly  confident  in  the 
presence  of  another,  would  lose  patience  with  herself 


302  THE    CIRCLE 

for  her  want  of  strength.  But  at  other  times,  when 
Johann  was  busy  in  the  shop,  her  voice  would  fail  to 
reach  him  ;  and  pale  at  the  isolation  of  this  house 
packed  between  a  hundred  other  houses,  she  would 
return  to  the  room  chilled  with  nervous  apprehen- 
sion, feel  her  father's  pulse,  listen  to  his  scarcely 
audible  breathing,  then  walk  to  the  window  and  rest 
her  forehead  against  the  glass. 

It  was  a  small  maze  of  life,  small  as  the  cobweb  of 
the  big  spider  above  the  bed  ;  and  she  moved  in  its 
narrow  round  with  as  little  variation,  as  little  knowl- 
edge of  the  morrow,  as  did  the  insect  itself.  In  that 
fact  lay  at  once  her  danger  and  her  anchorage.  One 
point  she  had  set  before  her  mind,  and  to  one  point 
she  held.  She  would  not  look  ahead.  She  had 
blinded  herself  —  or  believed  that  she  had  blinded 
herself  —  to  the  fact  that  for  her,  possessing  youth 
and  health,  life  must  go  on  indefinitely,  whatever  its 
mental  aspect.  She  had  made  her  sacrifice  and,  as 
she  had  said,  she  was  like  the  miracle-worker  waiting 
for  a  sign.  She  waited  for  the  sign  in  rigid  patience, 
but  that  she  did  wait  and  did  hope  inordinately  was 
shown  beyond  doubt  by  the  wild  beating  of  her 
heart  each  time  the  shop-bell  rang,  the  quick  red 
that  sprang  to  her  face  each  time  that  Johann 
returned  from  seeing  a  customer.  To  hope  against 
hope  is  the  reprieve  of  humanity  ;  when  hope  goes 
the  sentence  of  death  is  already  passed. 

In  the  still  room  life  stagnated.  Through  the 
open  window  the  dusty  air  swung  in  haltingly.  Once 


THE    CIRCLE  303 

a  butterfly  flitted  to  the  sill,  hovered  above  the  lilies, 
then  slanted  out  again  ;  in  a  corner  the  cat  crouched 
on  the  boards,  stealthily  watchful  of  a  mouse-hole ; 
on  the  table  by  the  bed  a  fly  crawled  up  the  medi- 
cine bottle.  Anna  watched  each  in  turn  with  weary 
eyes.  Her  head  ached,  her  arm  was  cramped ;  from 
her  place  by  the  bed  she  could  smell  the  white  roses. 
By  closing  her  eyes  she  could  see  Trescar,  the  green 
cliff,  the  sweep  of  sea,  the  tower  of  Strode's  house. 
But  she  did  not  close  them  ;  there  are  some  pictures 
we  dare  not  look  upon. 

Presently  there  was  a  step  outside  ;  her  figure  be- 
came alert,  a  light  came  into  her  face.  After  a  faint 
pause  the  door  creaked  cautiously,  and  Johann  came 
softly  into  the  room. 

Solny  lifted  his  lids,  glanced  at  the  new-comer, 
then  turned  to  Anna. 

"  Dear  one  ! ""  he  said  weakly.  "  Dear  one  !  "  He 
tried  to  pat  her  hand,  but  before  the  action  was 
completed  his  eyes  had  drooped  again. 

Anna  looked  up.  "  Well  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What 
did  the  doctor  say?" 

Johann  came  softly  round  to  her  side  and  sat  on 
the  window-ledge. 

"  As  usual  —  nothing."" 

She  made  an  impatient  sound.  "He  irritates 
me,"  she  said.  "  It 's  always  the  same,  the  very 
same  —  *  Be  gentle  with  him,  humour  him  in  every- 
thing ;  make  him  take  all  the  nourishment  you 
can.1  Oh,  Johann,  can't  we  do  more  than  be  gentle 


304  THE    CIRCLE 

with  him  ?  It  seems  so  little,  when  one  would  do  «c 
much."  She  spoke  in  a  whisper,  but  the  cramped- 
ness,  mental  and  physical,  that  hemmed  her  round 
was  observable  in  her  voice. 

Johann  hung  his  head. 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  a  minute,  then 
Anna  spoke  again. 

"  Has  any  one  come  to-day,  Johann  ?  Any  one  ?  " 
She  thrilled  with  the  question,  and  stayed  breathless 
for  the  reply. 

He  moved  abruptly  and  buried  his  face  in  the 
lilies.  "  No  one.""  His  voice  was  muffled  in  the 
flowers.  Then  came  a  fresh  silence.  He  stirred  his 
feet  uneasily,  looking  furtively  and  hungrily  at  the 
girl  by  his  side. 

Through  the  window  the  air  fanned  in  and  out ; 
Solny^s  breathing  had  grown  faintly  regular.  Quietly 
but  involuntarily  Anna  drew  away  her  arm,  and 
rising  walked  to  the  door. 

Johann  half  rose. 

At  the  door  she  spoke  without  looking  back. 
"  Stay  with  him  a  little,  Johann ;  I  "m  going  to  my 
own  room." 

He  paused,  instantly  obedient.  His  face  in  the 
last  week  had  returned  to  its  old  drawn  pallor  ;  the 
first  radiance  of  joy,  faded  by  Strode's  coming,  had 
never  been  given  renewed  life ;  in  its  place  a  des- 
perate desire  to  hold  Anna  at  all  costs,  and  at  all 
costs  to  make  her  satisfied  to  stay,  possessed  him  to 
inordinate  degrees.  He  rose  in  the  morning  and  lay 


THE    CIRCLE  305 

down  at  night  a  prey  to  the  one  idea.  Every  hour 
of  the  long  monotonous  day  was  an  effort  to  that 
end,  or  a  sickening  fear  that  the  effort  had  been 
futile. 

Anna,  unconscious  of  all  this,  unconscious  of  every- 
thing except  her  own  dull  despair  and  her  own 
tired  thoughts,  moved  towards  the  door-handle. 
Johann,  with  a  forward  start,  reached  it  first  and 
turned  it  for  her.  As  she  passed  him  he  leant  near, 
looking  into  her  face. 

"  Anna? " 

She  paused  questioningly. 

"  I  have  been  silent  for  a  week.  May  I  ask  some- 
thing now  ? "  The  entreaty,  mingling  with  fear, 
that  showed  in  his  eyes  thrust  her  suddenly  back 
eight  years. 

"  What  is  it,  Johann  ?  "  she  said  gently. 

His  eyes  scorched  her  face,  then  fell.  "You 
are  contented  here  ?  You  have  no  wish  to  go 
back  ?  " 

His  tone  was  intense  ;  and  intensity,  when  it  does 
not  freeze,  is  infectious.  It  touched  Anna  with 
momentary  fire ;  for  a  fraction  of  time  the  impulse 
to  speak  overwhelmed  her,  the  desire  to  unburden 
all  her  mind  without  counting  the  consequence  be- 
came a  power  almost  outside  control.  Then  sud- 
denly Solny  stirred. 

"  Zenia ! "  he  called,  with  the  plaintive  wail  of  a 
child.  "  Zenia  !  " 

The  effect  on  the  girl  was  curious.  Her  lips  drew 
20 


306  THE    CIRCLE 

together  in  chilled  silence ;  the  hand  she  had  half 
raised  dropped  back  to  her  side. 

"  No,  Johann,  I  regret  nothing  —  please  believe 
that."  Turning,  she  walked  back  to  the  bed  and 
knelt  down  again. 


PART  THREE— CHAPTER  VII 

MRS.  MAXTEAD  was  in  her  study  ;  her 
desk  was  piled  with  unanswered  letters 
and  her  ash-tray  with  half-burnt  cigar- 
ettes ;  there  was  an  air  of  carelessness 
in  the  assortment  of  her  papers,  usually  so  methodi- 
cal and  complete.  She  sat  in  deep  dejection,  her 
elbows  on  the  desk,  her  face  between  her  hands. 

After  five  minutes  there  was  a  knock  on  the  outer 
door.  She  started  to  her  feet  and  walked  across  the 
room  ;  as  she  reached  the  door  it  opened  and  Strode 
came  in. 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  undisguised  relief.  "  How 
I  Ve  been  longing  for  you,  Maurice  !  Is  there  any 
news  ?  " 

Strode's  face  looked  tired. 

"  None,"  he  said. 

"None?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

She  returned  to  her  seat  and  motioned  him  to 
another.  For  a  while  there  was  silence  in  the  room. 

"  You  Ve  been  there  —  to  Felt  Street  ?  " 

"  At  eleven.11 

"  Nothing  to  be  learnt  ?" 

«  Nothing." 


308  THE    CIRCLE 

"  And  that  makes  the  tenth  time  ?  " 

"  Ninth  or  tenth.  One  rather  loses  count.""  For 
the  first  time  the  reliant  confidence  of  Strode's  voice 
lacked  its  ring.  When  he  had  finished  he  sat  silent, 
gazing  in  front  of  him. 

Several  minutes  passed.  Mrs.  Maxtead  changed 
her  position  once  or  twice,  lighted  a  cigarette  and 
laid  it  aside  unsmoked ;  at  last  with  a  hasty  impulse 
of  resolution  she  rose  and  crossed  to  his  side,  motion- 
ing him  not  to  rise. 

"This  man's  answer  has  always  been  the  same, 
Maurice  ?  Always  unsatisfactory  ?  Always  wrung 
from  him,  as  it  were,  against  his  will?" 

Strode  nodded.  "He's  a  queer  chap,""  he  said. 
u  It 's  his  way  of  telling  one  bad  news,  nothing  be- 
yond that." 

For  a  space  his  companion  said  nothing ;  then, 
with  quick  restlessness,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Maurice,  it 's  my  firm  impression  that  the  man  is 
lying  —  that  she  is  there." 

Strode  started,  then  relapsed  into  quiet.  "Ab- 
surd!" he  said. 

Her  eyes  gleamed.  "  You  are  a  man,"  she  said, 
"  and  of  course  you  say  '  absurd '  to  any  opinion  a 
woman  may  advance  —  it 's  hereditary,  and  I  forgive 
you.  But  I  hold  to  the  impression.  The  creature 
cares  for  her,  always  has  cared  for  her.  What  is 
more  natural  than  that,  having  got  her  back,  he 
should  stick  to  her  ?  Stick  to  her  like  grim  death, 
as  you  would  say,  and  consider  you  his  worst  enemy?"" 


THE    CIRCLE  309 

Strode  removed  her  detaining  hand  gently,  and  rose. 
"  Absurd  !  "  he  said  again.  "  The  man  has  too  few 
friends  to  mistake  them  for  anything  else.  Beside, 
I  put  him  on  his  oath  the  first  time  I  went  there.  I 
suppose  I  may  smoke  ? "" 

She  nodded  impatiently,  and  he  lit  a  cigarette. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  a  wall  of  reserve  was 
to  rise  between  the  two  who  for  days  had  worked 
as  incessant  allies.  Continual  disappointment  has  a 
dangerously  blighting  consequence. 

Mrs.  Maxtead  walked  to  her  desk  and  took  up  her 
old  position,  but  she  watched  Strode  as  he  paced  the 
room,  smoking  hard ;  she  saw  him  throw  away  one 
used-out  cigarette  and  light  another;  then,  with 
the  silent  swiftness  that  characterised  her  in  critical 
times,  she  rose  once  more  and  went  straight  up  to 
him.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  her  face  had  lost  its 
satirical  hardness. 

"  Maurice,"  she  said  with  direct  quiet,  "  we  have 
been  working  together  for  a  time  that  seems  like 
years.  In  war,  when  men  fight  together  day  after  day 
they  must  see  each  other  in  a  new  light ;  a  lot  must 
show  up,  weakness  and  strength.  In  the  last  week  I 
have  seen  you  through  and  through.  I  have  said  noth- 
ing, I  have  taken  it  all  in  the  day's  work,  but  far 
down  inside  my  mind  I  have  been  shamed  into  admi- 
ration by  your  sheer  pluck  —  I,  who  never  admire." 

Strode  touched  her  hand  and  laughed. 

"  No,11  she  said.  "  No,  Maurice,  that %>  just  what 
I  won't  have.  You  think  that  I  don't  see,  but  I  do ; 


310  THE    CIRCLE 

you  think  that  I  have  a  little  courage  of  my  own, 
but  I  have  n't,  not  a  scrap.  If  I  have  n't  let  the 
fear  that's  making  me  frantic  show  straight  out,  it 
is  because  I  am  held  back  by  you.  When  I  lie  awake 
at  night  and  think  and  think  3f  what  may  have  hap- 
pened —  of  the  horrible  thing  one  dares  not  frame  — 
what  is  it  that  keeps  me  from  getting  up  and  going 
right  out  of  the  house  ?  Nothing  but  the  fact  that 
you,  who  are  bearing  so  much  more,  are  bearing  it 
so  well.  My  dear  boy,  I  understand  quite  well  — 
quite  well  — '"  She  looked  at  him  steadily.  "Don't 
shut  me  out  now,  because  things  are  getting  too  hard." 

Strode  turned  to  her  for  an  instant,  then  walked 
to  the  window.  He  stood  in  silence  for  a  while,  then 
suddenly  he  wheeled  about. 

"  You  are  right !  "  he  said  sharply.  "  You  are 
quite  right!  I  do  feel  driven — driven  against  a 
dead  wall.  I  sometimes  find  myself  asking  how  long 
it  can  go  on  —  how  long  7  can  go  on  —  " 

"  Don't !  "  she  said  hastily.  "  These  things  are 
best  not  put  into  words.  When  you  face  a  dead 
wall,  turn  and  try  a  fresh  road." 

He  laughed  again  harshly.  "  Show  me  the  road 
I  have  n't  tried?" 

She  moved  towards  him  once  more,  in  her  manner 
there  was  an  underlying  excitement. 

"  Yes,  Maurice,  I  will." 

He  glanced  at  her  sharply,  but  she  went  on  with- 
out heeding  his  regard. 

"  I  have  my  theory,"  she  said,  "  about  this  curio 


THE    CIRCLE  311 

shop  and  this  deformed  friend  of  yours,  and  I  want 
to  put  my  theory  to  the  test.  You  have  interviewed 
him  nine  times,  and  each  time,  as  you  admit,  you 
have  gained  nothing.  Let  me  interview  him  once  ?  ""* 
She  paused,  fingering  her  rings. 

Strode  was  silent. 

"  Maurice,  let  me  go  there  once  ?  All  along  you 
have  said  c  Leave  everything  to  me,'  and  I  have  left 
everything  to  you.  Day  after  day  I  've  sat  at  home, 
now  I  feel  I've  sat  at  home  long  enough.""  She 
looked  up  with  eager  eyes.  "  You  are  as  straight  as 
a  die  yourself ;  we  are  all  apt  to  take  people's  length 
by  our  own  special  measure."  There  was  query  and 
suggestion  in  her  pause. 

Strode  moved  impatiently.  "  Look  here,"  he  said, 
"  it  comes  to  this  —  I  take  this  beggar  to  be  a  liar  or 
I  take  him  to  be  the  reverse ;  till  he  is  proved  to  bt 
a  liar,  I  prefer  to  think  him  square  —  in  fact  I  have 
no  choice  but  to  think  him  square." 

"•  My  dear  Maurice,  there  is  n't  room  for  truth  and 
jealousy  in  the  same  house,  you  may  take  my  word 
for  that." 

"  Jealousy  ? "  He  stared,  then  laughed  impa- 
tiently. "  Absurd ! "  he  said  once  more.  "  I  put 
him  on  his  oath,  you  can't  get  away  from  that.  An 
oath 's  an  oath  any  day  to  a  man  like  that." 

"  Not  when  a  woman  is  in  the  scales,  and  the  oath 
can  turn  it." 

Strode  tunied  back  to  the  window.  "Absurd! 
The  man 's  honest,  I  'm  certain  of  it."  He  spoke 
decisively,  over-decisively  it  almost  seemed. 


312  THE    CIRCLE 

His  companion  saw  the  point. 

"  Let  me  have  one  interview  ?  One  interview  of 
half  an  hour  ?  " 

"  Where  's  the  good  ?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Is  n't  that  for  me 
to  arrange  ?  " 

Strode  turned  to  her  abruptly.  "  Where 's  the 
good  ?  "  he  said  again.  "  You  '11  ask  what  I  have 
asked,  you  '11  get  the  same  answers,  then  you  '11 
come  away." 

"  Pardon,  Maurice,  then  I  '11  begin." 

He  looked  down.  "  You  can't  legally  search  the 
house,"  he  said. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face.  "  I  was  n't  think- 
ing of  searching  the  house.  I  know  a  fact  concern- 
ing your  friend.  I  have  known  it  for  years.  It 
struck  me  yesterday  that  a  fact  is  never  too  stale 
to  be  used." 

Strode  stared  at  her.  "  That  affair  of  the  jewels  ?  " 
he  said.  "  You  don't  mean  that  old  affair  you  told 
me  of?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  mean.  As  a  lever,  jewels  are  as 
good  a  weapon  as  any  other." 

He  still  looked  at  her.  "  You  could  n't,"  he  said. 
"  You  could  n't,  after  all  this  time." 

"  I  could  do  anything,  Maurice,  and  something 
must  be  done.  Can  you  guarantee  to  find  her  ? " 
The  question  was  sharp. 

Strode  looked  down  again.  "No,"  he  said  very 
slowly.  "  No,  I  suppose  I  can't." 


THE    CIRCLE  313 

His  companion's  eyes  flashed.  "  Then  abdicate," 
she  said.  "  Be  generous  and  abdicate." 

He  stood  very  still.  "Give  me  one  other  day?" 
he  said  at  last.  "  It 's  a  big  thing  to  tell  a  man  he  's 
perjured  himself.  Give  me  one  other  day?" 

She  glanced  at  him  swiftly.  "  You  Ve  thought  of 
another  way,"  she  said.  "  I  see  it  in  your  eyes." 

"  Nothing.  Just  a  chance  —  the  shred  of  a  chance  " 
—  he  still  looked  on  the  ground  ;  still  seemed  harassed 
and  perturbed.  "  He  knows  that  I  love  Anna  ;  but 
I  Ve  never  said  straight  out  that  Anna  cares  for  me. 
I  don't  like  it,  but  it 's  a  chance  —  admitting  that 
what  you  think  could  possibly  be  true  —  it's  just  a 
chance."  He  raised  his  head. 

"  And  if  your  chance  fails  —  ?  " 

"  Then  I  resign.     You  can  do  what  you  like." 

She  smiled  with  quick  intelligence.  "You  have 
given  me  new  life,  Maurice.  I  feel  at  last  that  I  Ve 
a  right  to  exist." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  "  I  'm  glad  somebody  feels 
like  that.  I  'll'say  good-bye  now." 

She  took  the  hand  impulsively.  "  Have  some  lunch 
before  you  go  ?  You  're  wearing  yourself  out." 

He  smiled  dryly.  "Thanks;  somehow  I  don't 
feel  like  lunch  —  have  n't  these  six  days." 

Mrs.  Maxtead  watched  him  walk  to  the  door. 
"Till  to-morrow,  Maurice!"  she  said. 

"  Yes.     Till  to-morrow  ! " 

Five  seconds  later  she  heard  the  hall  door  shut. 


PART   THREE  —  CHAPTER    nil 

ON  the  same  day  there  was  a  stir  in  the 
rooms  above  the  curio  shop  —  the  vague 
restless  stir  that  hangs  about  grave  ill- 
ness like  a  premature  pall.  From  the 
moment  of  Annans  coming  —  from  his  first  excited 
recognition  of  her  as  his  wife  —  Solny  had  failed 
perceptibly.  His  life  had  for  years  been  the  life  of 
a  spent  taper,  needing  no  more  than  a  gust  of  rough 
wind  to  extinguish  its  light ;  and  her  coming  had, 
in  all  unconsciousness,  proved  to  be  that  wind. 
When  the  vigour  of  existence  is  at  its  ebb,  a  shock 
of  joy  is  often  as  relentlessly  fatal  as  a  shock  of 
sorrow  ;  and  on  the  morning  when  Strode  and  Mrs. 
Maxtead  confronted  their  difficulties  in  Palace  Court, 
the  steady  decline  that  for  days  had  been  gaining 
ground  made  its  first  uncovered  attack. 

Before  twelve  o'clock  Solny  fainted  twice.  The 
doctor,  hurriedly  sent  for,  examined  him  with  unusual 
minuteness,  gave  his  directions  laconically,  and  de- 
parted, promising  to  look  in  again  in  two  hours'  time. 
He  was  back  in  Felt  Street  in  an  hour  and  a  half. 

The  patient  was  sleeping,  but  his  breathing  was 
alarmingly  weak.  For  the  first  time  the  doctor 
became  personal ;  he  looked  at  Anna  in  a  new  way. 


THE    CIRCLE  315 

"  You  must  take  care  of  yourself/'1  he  said.  "  We 
can't  have  you  breaking  down." 

She  glanced  up  from  her  place  by  her  father's 
pillow.  "  I  shaVt  break  down,"  she  said. 

He  continued  to  look  at  her  with  a  shrewdness 
that  brought  Penrhyn  to  her  mind. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  have  a  nurse  —  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  would  be  wiser,  you  know  — "  He  came 
round  to  her  side.  "I  don't  want  to  frighten 
you  —  " 

She  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

"  But  it  's  my  duty  to  say  —  to  prepare  you  —  " 
He  stopped.  He  was  young ;  he  wanted  intensely 
to  be  kind ;  but  a  practice  in  the  southeast  does 
not  encourage  tact. 

Anna's  eyes  dilated.  "  Oh  no,"  she  said,  "  it 
can't  be,  it  couldn't  be  —  so  soon." 

He  patted  her  shoulder  awkwardly.  "  Come,"  he 
said,  "  be  plucky  !  He 's  old  —  life  is  n't  worth  much 
to  us  when  we  come  to  that — "  He  indicated  the  bed. 

Solny's  figure  showed  up  through  the  bed-clothes 
like  an  effigy  on  a  tomb ;  his  face,  so  prematurely 
worn,  was  the  colour  of  yellow  wax,  except  where 
dark  hollows  showed  under  the  eyes. 

Anna  looked ;  then  looked  away.  "  I  understand 
what  you  isean,"  she  said. 

The  doctor  was  disconcerted  ;  he  was  unused  to 
patients  who  took  such  news  in  a  frozen  way.  He 
touched  her  shoulder  again. 


316  THE    CIRCLE 

"  You  have  done  everything  for  him  —  that  must 
be  a  consolation." 

She  said  nothing. 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  moved  to  the  door. 
*'  1 11  look  in  again  once  —  perhaps  twice  —  before 
night.  There's  nothing  to  be  done  beyond  what 
IVe  said.11 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  And  take  care  of  yourself.  Remember  it 's 
kinder  to  him  —  he  may  want  you  later  on."" 

"  1 11  remember." 

"  Do.     Good-day !  " 

"  Good-day  ! " 

He  went  out,  closed  the  door,  and  passed  down- 
stairs. 

Anna  stayed  immovable,  her  hand  on  her  father's, 
her  eyes  fixed  rigidly  on  the  opposite  wall. 

In  the  shop  the  doctor  paused  by  the  desk. 

"  He 's  failing  fast,"  he  said. 

Johann  looked  up  in  alarm. 

"  And  I  want  you  to  look  to  the  girl.  It  's  nothing 
to  do  with  me,  but  I  can't  quite  place  that  girl ;  and 
I  think  she  wants  seeing  to.  Shell  be  my  next 
patient  if  we  don't  look  out.  We  are  all  animals. 
you  know,  and  we  all  need  our  environment.  It  's 
very  plain  that  she 's  out  of  hers." 

Johann  paled,  partly  understanding.  *'  What  am 
I  to  do  ?  "  he  said. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him.     "  Rouse  her  in  some 


THE    CIRCLE  317 

way,"  he  said ;  "  make  her  cry,  for  choice.  A 
woman's  generally  safe  if  you  can  make  her  cry. 
I  don't  like  her  eyes  —  they  Ye  too  dry  and  too  ex- 
pectant for  her  age.  How  old  is  she  ?  Twenty-two  ?  " 

"  Twenty-four." 

"  I  see  !  Well,  1 11  drop  in  again.  Take  the  old 
man  quietly  ;  he  11  give  no  trouble.  Good-day  ! " 

"Good-day,  sir!  " 

Johann  in  his  turn  was  left  alone. 


PART  THE EE  —  CHA P TER  IX 

WITH  sickening  slowness  the  day  wore 
on ;  three  times  between  noon  and 
four  Johann  crept  upstairs,  but  each 
time  Anna's  rigid  face  kept  him  dumb 
or  sent  him  away  diespairing.  Questioned  on  any 
point,  she  answered  in  monosyllables ;  haltingly 
sympathised  with,  she  seemed  not  to  hear.  At  the 
given  times  she  zealously  administered  the  medicines 
and  nourishment  to  her  father ;  in  the  intervals  she 
knelt  quite  motionless  by  the  bed. 

At  four  the  doctor  came  again.  He  stayed  in  the 
sick  man's  room  for  nearly  half  an  hour  ;  but  what 
he  was  doing  there  —  whether  attending  upon  Solny 
or  trying  to  break  through  Anna's  chilled  quiet, 
Johann  never  knew,  having  an  affair  of  his  own  on 
hand. 

As  the  doctor,  having  finished  his  visit,  passed 
through  the  parlour  into  the  shop,  he  saw  a  slight 
tall  man  leave  by  the  street  door ;  the  man  was  well 
dressed  and  walked  quickly,  almost  agitatedly,  it 
seemed.  It  struck  him  as  an  odd  episode ;  but  odd 
episodes  become  casual  in  a  doctor's  life.  He  turned 
to  Johann,  huddled  behind  the  counter. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  have  n't  done  much.  She 's 
still  ice.* 


THE    CIRCLE  319 

Johann  did  n't  speak ;  he  seemed  curiously  up- 
set. His  face  had  a  scared  look,  his  lips  were 
unsteady. 

"Well?"  said  the  other.  "Didn't  you  do 
anything  ?  " 

"  I  tried  —  I  tried,  but  she  would  n't  speak 
to  me." 

The  doctor  pursed  his  lips.  "  Tush,  man  !  I  told 
you  to  speak  to  her."  Then  he  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  I  must  be  getting  on." 

Johann  moved  uneasily  ;  some  secret  agitation  was 
working  in  his  face. 

His  companion  watched  him,  then  moved  towards 
the  door.  "I'll  turn  in  again,"  he  said.  "And 
remember  what  I  said  —  It 's  you  who  must  speak  to 
her:" 

Johann  raised  his  head.  "  Yes,"  he  said  sharply, 
"  it  is  I  must  speak  to  her."  He  repeated  the  words 
with  a  strange  intonation,  as  if  meaning  them,  not 
for  his  questioner,  but  for  himself. 

The  doctor  pondered  on  the  point  as  he  walked 
briskly  down  the  street. 

Johann  sat  behind  the  counter  until  six  o'clock. 
At  six  he  shut  the  shop.  Ten  minutes  later  Anna 
heard  a  knock  on  Solny's  door. 

She  looked  up  with  sharp  relief  as  the  sound  fell. 
She  was  corking  a  medicine  bottle,  and  her  fingers, 
usually  so  steady,  slipped  and  stumbled  over  the  task. 
It  was  early  evening,  but  the  room,  full  of  light  in 


320  THE    CIRCLE 

the  morning,  was  the  first  in  the  house  to  catch  the 
chill  of  approaching  dusk.  Already  there  were 
shadows  in  the  corners  and  a  bluish  tinge  in  the 
whiteness  of  the  bed-clothes.  She  answered  the  knock 
with  a  haste  that  betrayed  strung  nerves. 

Johann  entered  softly,  moved  across  the  room 
with  almost  stealthy  quiet,  and  paused  by  the 
window-seat. 

Anna  held  up  her  finger.  "  He  is  asleep  again  !  " 
She  finished  corking  the  bottle,  then  crossed  to 
Johann's  side. 

"Johann,""  she  said,  "I'm  so  glad  you've  come. 
I  thought  I  had  offended  you,  and  I  —  I  began  to 
have  such  silly  ideas,  and  imagine  that  you  would  n't 
come  back  at  all.  Was  n't  it  absurd  ?  "  She  laughed, 
a  faint  unsteady  laugh,  then  caught  herself  up. 
"  How  horrible  !  "  she  said.  "  I  never  meant  to  laugh 
—  the  sound  slipped  out  by  itself;  I  must  be  all 
nerves.  Johann,  do  I  seem  all  nerves  ?  " 

Johann  did  not  look  at  her.  "What  does  that 
mean  ?  "  he  said.  "  What  do  you  mean  when  you 
say  *  nerves  **  ? "" 

"  Oh."  She  made  a  gesture  with  her  hands. 
"  Oh,  it  means  that  you  are  all  —  all  in  little  bits  ; 
it  means  that  you  keep  fearfully  still,  because  you 
are  afraid  to  let  yourself  go;  it  means  —  oh,  Johann, 
it  means  that  you  Ve  had  enough  —  that  you  can't 
possibly  bear  any  more  —  that  you  are  utterly, 
utterly  broken  down  —  She  sank  on  the  window- 
seat  and  hid  her  face  —  a  wave  of  silent  tearless 
sobbing  shaking  her  from  head  to  foot. 


THE    CIRCLE  321 

It  was  a  terrible  form  of  grief  to  witness  —  per- 
fectly soundless,  perfectly  concentrated  ;  it  was  more 
harassing  than  any  flood  of  tears.  Johann  was 
beside  himself;  the  tide  of  his  love  swelled  up 
futilely.  He  touched  her  hands,  her  arm,  her  hair. 
He  even  knelt  beside  her  and  strove  to  raise  her  face. 

"  Anna ! "  he  whispered  beseechingly.  "  Anna  ! " 
His  adoration  of  her  shook  incoherently  in  his  voice. 

Her  shoulders  moved  convulsively ;  the  silence  of 
the  room  continued,  broken  only  by  the  agitated 
indrawing  of  her  breath.  Solny  slept  on.  Johann 
looked  from  one  figure  to  the  other,  his  incapacity 
goading  him.  At  last  he  caught  her  wrists. 

"  Anna,  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  ?  " 

The  pain  and  despair  in  his  voice  reached  her ; 
she  looked  up  with  haggard  eyes. 

"  No  one  can  do  anything.     No  one." 

It  was  then,  suddenly,  that  strength  came  to 
Johann, 

"  Anna,"  he  said,  with  sharp  emphasis,  "  have  you 
ever  been  glad  that  you  came  home  ?  Have  you 
ever  —  ever  once  —  been  glad  that  you  came  back  ? 
I  want  to  know."" 

Anna  bent  her  face,  but  he  held  her  wrists ;  his 
hungry  eyes  compelled  an  answer.  For  a  second  she 
met  his  glance  unwillingly,  then  something  in  its 
intensity  fired  her.  The  strenuous  need  for  truth 
flamed  up  again,  the  wild  wish  to  have  done  with 
patience  and  pretence  caught  her  as  it  had  done 
before. 


822  THE    CIRCLE 

"  No,  Johann,"  she  said,  "  I  have  never  once  been 
glad.  I  have  felt  a  prisoner  —  I  have  hated  it  from 
the  first  — "  She  barely  breathed  the  words,  but 
each  syllable  reached  him.  Again  she  bent  her  face, 
but  this  time  her  wrists  were  free. 

The  change  struck  her ;  she  looked  up. 

"  Johann  !  "  she  said  nervously.     "  Johann  ! " 

Johann  had  turned  to  the  fireplace.  He  looked 
shrunken  and  wofully  small. 

She  rose  uncertainly.  "  Johann,11  she  said  again. 
There  was  a  tinge  of  fear  in  her  voice. 

He  did  not  turn. 

"  Johann,  I  have  hurt  you.71 

"No.  I  think  I  knew  all  along.  I  wouldn't 
believe  —  that  was  all." 

Solny  stirred  a  little  at  this  point.  Anna  moved 
to  the  bed,  bending  over  it  in  quick  solicitude. 

Johann  made  no  effort  to  move.  Deep  in  his 
mind  he  felt  numbed  —  too  numbed  ever  to  move 
again.  After  a  long  dreary  silence  he  spoke. 

tt  Why  did  you  come  back  at  all  ?  "  he  asked. 

Anna  raised  her  head ;  she  was  still  standing  by 
the  bed.  She  tried  to  reply,  but  no  rational  sen- 
tence formed  itself.  She  felt  crushed  by  the  enor- 
mity of  her  act. 

"  What  made  you  think  of  coming  back  ?  I  want 
to  know." 

She  moved  a  little  towards  the  window,  then 
stopped.  She  felt  like  the  prisoner  arraigned  and 
already  condemned.  With  a  desperate  wish  to  anti- 


THE    CIRCLE  323 

cipate  her  judgment,  she  went  suddenly  forward  to 
where  Johann  stood. 

"  1 11  tell  you  everything,  Johann  —  from  the  very 
first  to  the  last.  Let  me  tell  you  everything.  I 
have  craved  to  tell  it  all  along,  only  I  wanted  to  be 
brave  —  " 

His  shoulders  were  hunched ;  he  leant  heavily  on 
the  mantel-board. 

"  Johann,  can  you  hear  what  I  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  can  hear/1   His  tone  was  dull  and  strange. 

"  I  told  you  the  other  night  why  I  went  away  long 
ago  —  how  I  was  lured  away  through  my  fear  for 
you  —  how  I  was  not  to  blame  in  that ;  I  told  you 
how  Mrs.  Maxtead  kept  her  word  and  appeased  Gol- 
stock  —  though  the  jewels  were  never  found;  I  told 
you  how  for  three  years  I  remembered  you,  and  for 
the  other  three  forgot.  You  know  all  that ;  it  is 
the  other  part  —  the  later  part  —  that  you  do  not 
know  —  "  She  paused  and  pushed  back  her  hair. 

Johann's  shoulders  stirred  very  slightly,  otherwise 
he  was  quiet. 

"  Two  months  ago,  Johann,  I  met  a  man  —  an 
American  named  Maurice  Strode  — "  She  watched 
him  and  saw  him  lay  his  arm  more  heavily  on  the 
cheap  chimney-board.  "  We  became  friends.  I  went 
to  Cornwall  with  Mrs.  Maxtead  and  he  was  there. 
Before  I  left  Cornwall  we  were  engaged  to  be 
married.11 

Johannes  arm  dropped  and  he  moved  round ;  his 
face  had  the  bluish  tinge  that  it  had  worn  on  the 


324  THE    CIRCLE 

night  of  his  rescue ;  the  scar  on  his  temple  showed 
darker  and  deeper  than  usual. 

"  Did  you  love  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

Anna  put  up  her  hand.  "  Wait ! ""  she  said. 
"Wait!  It's  all  got  to  be  told/'  She  stepped 
to  the  bed,  arranging  the  quilt  with  unsteady 
hands,  then  walked  back  again. 

"  Until  then,  Johann  —  up  to  the  time  I  left 
Cornwall  —  he  did  n't  know  my  name,  did  n't  know 
who  I  was  —  it  was  a  whim  of  mine  to  make  him 
care  for  me,  just  for  myself.  And  on  the  night 
before  I  left  he  told  me  a  story  —  the  story  of  a 
girl  who  had  left  her  home  and  forgotten  her  peo- 
ple, whose  father  had  gone  mad  at  the  loss  of  her, 
and  whose  oldest  friend  was  slaving  day  after  day  in 
the  place  that  ought  to  have  been  hers  — 

Johann's  head  was  lifted,  his  dull  eyes  devoured 
her  face,  he  had  the  look  of  an  animal  that  stands 
with  ears  alert. 

"  He  told  me  the  story  word  for  word,  bitterly 
and  harshly.  He,  who  is  so  loyal  himself,  could  find 
no  excuse,  could  find  no  loophole  —  not  one  —  not 
even  a  tiny  one.  He  said  that  such  a  woman  is 
branded  —  branded,  Johann.  Say  that  slowly  over 
to  yourself. " 

Johann  moistened  his  lips.  "  Did  you  love  him  ?  " 
he  asked  again. 

"  Love  him  ?  I  cared  for  him  with  every  scrap  of 
feeling.  Every  word  he  said  cut  deep  down,  like  a 
red-hot  knife.  I  wonder  I  lived  through  that  night." 


THE    CIRCLE  325 

At  her  first  words  Johann  stepped  back  ;  as  she 
went  on  he  came  forward  again,  looking  stupidly  on 
the  floor. 

"You  never  told  him  ?     He  never  knew  ?" 

"  Not  till  afterwards.  If  you  had  heard  him  speak 
that  night,  if  you  had  seen  his  face,  you  would  n't 
ask.  I  could  n't  have  told  him,  Johann  ;  no  woman 
could  have  told  him,  then."  She  stopped  and  turned 
to  the  window.  In  her  absorption  she  had  almost 
forgotten  that  she  had  a  listener ;  in  the  new  free- 
dom of  speech  she  had  overlooked  the  pain  that  her 
words  might  have  for  him.  Presently  she  turned 
back  into  the  room  and  spoke  afresh,  her  voice 
wavering  in  her  effort  to  keep  it  low. 

"  Do  you  wonder  that  I  'm  the  most  wretched  girl 
on  earth  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  knew  that  he  would  hate 
me  and  despise  me  once  he  understood  ;  but  I  am  a 
woman  and  I  hoped.  Oh,  Johann,  I  have  hoped  and 
prayed,  and  prayed  and  hoped  that  he  might  grow 
to  understand  and  to  forgive ;  you  don't  know  what 
I  have  suffered  in  these  last  days.  I  have  tried  to 
live  for  my  father,  and  now  he  is  going ;  I  shall  be 
alone,  fearfully,  utterly  alone/1  She  sank  down  again 
on  the  window-seat. 

Johann  lowered  his  head  and  after  a  minute  raised 
it  again.  There  was  a  peculiar  look  in  his  face ;  the 
immature  perplexity  that  had  always  possessed  it 
was  gone,  giving  place  to  a  great  comprehension  ; 
his  eyes  looked  infinitely  pained,  but  his  weak  mouth 
had  ceased  to  tremble. 


326  THE    CIRCLE 

"  You  have  me,  Anna,"  he  said. 

Anna's  face  was  covered;  she  laughed  a  little, 
wildly.  "  Poor  Johann  ! "  she  said  below  her  breath 
and  without  looking  up. 

Johann  winced. 

"  Would  you  be  afraid  if  I  went  out  for  a  little  ? 
I  have  been  indoors  these  five  days.11 

She  glanced  up  miserably. 

"  Of  course  not ;  only  don't  be  longer  than  you 
need."  She  looked  towards  the  bed,  then  let  her 
head  droop  again. 

He  followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes. 

"  No,"  he  said  thoughtfully ;  "  not  longer  than  I 
need." 

After  that  there  was  silence  in  the  room,  a  silence 
so  long  that  at  last  Anna  looked  up.  She  looked  up 
hastily,  then  she  rose  hastily.  The  room  was  bare. 
Johann  had  gone. 


PART    THREE— CHAPTER    X 

IT  was  after  eight ;  Strode  was  pacing  to  and  fro 
between  the  door  and  the  windows  of  the  sit- 
ting-room.    The  windows  were  open,  but  the 
curtains  were  drawn ;  the  small  round  table 
was  set  for  dinner  ;  the  high  lamp  by  the  desk  had  a 
soft-coloured  shade.     Everything  on  the  surface  sug- 
gested comfort  and  ease ;  the  only  uncongenial  note 
in  the  harmony  of  the  whole  being  the  occupant 
himself.     He  was  neatly  and  carefully  dressed,  but 
long  and  unrelieved  suspense  tells  in  outward  signs 
on  even  the  strongest  man.     To  the   most   casual 
observer  Strode  was  changed. 

As  he  walked  his  hands  were  clasped  loosely  behind 
his  back ;  his  head,  usually  so  sharply  alert,  was 
bent ;  a  great  dejection,  reaching  almost  to  despair, 
was  apparent  in  his  face.  Nearly  four  hours  ago  he 
had  played  his  last  card  and  had  lost ;  now  he  faced 
Fate  bankrupt. 

He  paced  the  floor  hurriedly,  with  the  speed  of  a 
man  who  tries  to  outrun  himself.  Once  the  evening 
paper  was  swept  from  the  desk  by  his  hasty  move- 
ments, and  he  pushed  it  aside  with  his  foot ;  then, 
pausing  on  the  impulse,  he  picked  it  up,  and,  smooth- 
ing it,  carried  it  to  the  lamp.  There,  with  a  set 


328  THE    CIRCLE 

face,  he  scanned  the  latest  announcements  —  the  ac- 
cidents ;  strange  discoveries ;  deaths,  suicidal  and 
otherwise.  The  survey  was  rapid ;  as  he  finished,  the 
harassed  line  between  his  eyebrows  smoothed  itself 
momentarily,  and  with  a  short  exclamation  of  relief 
he  dropped  the  paper  again  and  recommenced  his 
pacing  of  the  room. 

Twice  he  walked  backwards  and  forwards ;  then  he 
stopped  by  the  desk,  sat  down  abruptly,  and  drew 
the  inkstand  forward.  Then  again  he  paused ;  he 
was  in  the  mood  to  be  distracted  by  the  slightest 
sound,  and  downstairs  he  had  heard  the  door-bell 
ring.  He  listened  for  a  second,  then,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  took  up  a  pen.  But  he  could  not  write. 
He  began  the  heading  of  a  letter,  then  paused  once 
more ;  he  was  certain  he  had  heard  a  step  on  the 
stairs.  He  laughed  angrily.  People  had  passed  up 
and  down  those  stairs  before  he  was  born ;  there  was 
no  reason  to  suppose  the  stairs  would  be  deserted 
even  after  he  was  dead.  He  laughed  again.  Then 
suddenly  he  threw  the  pen  aside  and  rose  ;  the  steps 
had  stopped  outside  his  door. 

He  stood  up  —  very  straight  and  stiff.  Someone 
knocked  on  the  door;  to  his  overstrained  ears  it 
sounded  a  timid  knock. 

"  Come  in  !  "  he  called. 

It  was  several  seconds  before  the  door  opened  ; 
then  it  only  opened  partly,  allowing  a  face  to  be 
seen  in  the  aperture.  The  face  was  pinched  and 
pale,  with  eyes  that  looked  unnaturally  large. 


329 

Strode  wanted  to  come  forward,  wanted  hard  to 
say  something,  but  he  stood  silent  and  still.  He 
was  uncertain  of  what  he  expected ;  he  was  un- 
certain whether  the  excitement  that  galvanised 
him  through  and  through  was  the  excitement  of 
hope  or  of  fear ;  he  only  knew  that  it  was  excite- 
ment, as  opposed  to  the  ghastly  inaction  of  the  past 
week.  He  turned  abruptly  to  the  fireplace,  and 
took  a  pipe  from  the  pipe-rack  that  hung  above  it. 

Johann  moved  forward  cautiously.  Once  more  he 
was  the  creature  Strode  had  known  —  reticent,  sub- 
dued, full  of  hidden  depths. 

Strode  stretched  his  hand  to  the  tobacco-jar  and 
began  to  fill  his  pipe.  He  scarcely  saw  what  he  was 
doing,  he  cared  a  good  deal  less  ;  but  such  a  man,  in 
such  a  moment,  must  be  occupied. 

The  other  moved  into  the  room  and  stood  by  the 
table  ;  the  yellow  glow  from  the  lamp  threw  a  trying 
light,  accentuating  all  that  was  meagre  and  unpre- 
possessing in  his  face. 

Strode  struck  a  match  and  held  it  suspended  in 
the  air.  "  Well  ?  "  be  said  quietly.  «  Well  ?  * 

Johann  steadied  himself,  passing  his  tongue  over 
his  lips. 

"  I  lied,"  he  said  plainly  ;  "  she  was  there  all  along." 

Strode  said  nothing.  It  is  as  hard  —  to  some 
natures  it  is  harder  —  to  take  good  news  strongly 
than  to  take  bad ;  possibly  he  reached  the  highest 
point  in  his  control  when  he  stood  quiet  and  speech- 
less, letting  Johann's  words  sink  into  his  mind.  The 


THE    CIRCLE 

colour  round  his  mouth  paled  a  little  ;  once  or  twice 
his  fingers  twitched ;  beyond  that  he  made  no  sign. 
The  match  burnt  down,  scorching  his  hand;  he 
dropped  it  into  the  grate,  then,  with  his  involuntary 
gesture,  he  slowly  smoothed  his  hair. 

«  Well  ?  "  he  said  again.     "  Well  ?  " 

Johann  shook  slightly. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  "  He  struck  another 
match,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  began  to  smoke  fiercely. 

The  other  picked  up  a  book  and  toyed  with  it. 
"  When  you  came  to  the  shop  to-day  you  said  that 
she  loved  you  ;  I  did  n't  believe  it  then  —  I  would  n't 
believe  it.  She  had  come  back  to  us  of  her  own 
will.  How  could  I  believe  it  —  ?  "  His  tone  was 
thin  and  sharp. 

Strode  turned  abruptly ;  he  leant  against  the 
mantelpiece  and  smoked  harder  than  before. 

**  But  after  you  went  I  got  afraid.  I  waited  a  long 
time  —  thinking ;  then  I  went  upstairs  —  *'  Johann 
broke  off  and  dropped  the  book. 

Strode's  head  was  bent ;  he  was  enveloped  in  a 
cloud  of  smoke. 

"  I  went  upstairs  and  I  asked  her  quite  plainly  if 
she  was  content —  "  He  spoke  with  an  effort.  "  She 
cried  —  she  cried  until  she  could  no  longer  pretend  ; 
and  then  suddenly  I  found  that  all  along  I  had  known 
—  that  all  along  I  had  known,  only  I  would  not  let 
myself  know.  I  knew  that  she  was  miserable  with 
us ;  that  she  no  more  belonged  to  us  than  the  stars 
in  the  sky  belong,  though  we  can  see  their  light — " 
He  broke  off  again. 


THE    CIRCLE  331 

Strode  put  down  his  pipe.  "  Did  you  tell  her 
about  me  ?  " 

"  No."  Johann  looked  round.  "  She  had  told  me 
that  she  loves  you  —  " 

Strode  said  nothing  ;  he,  too,  was  thinking  hard. 

The  other  mistook  his  silence.  "  It  is  for  her  that 
I  come  here  —  not  for  you.11 

Still  Strode  was  silent. 

Johann's  pain  flickered  up  in  a  tinge  of  defiance. 
"  I  lied  to  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I  would  lie  again  — 
if  it  could  do  any  good.  I  wanted  her ;  I  had  waited 
for  her  and  wanted  her  for  eight  years  —  I,  who  have 
nothing.  And  you  —  you,  who  have  everything,  you 
came  to  rob  her  back  from  me  on  the  first  day  —  the 
very  first  day.  It  is  no  wonder  that  I  lied."  He 
moved  to  the  desk  :  he  was  white  and  excited ;  for 
almost  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  speaking  out 
his  heart,  and  the  expression  exalted  him  in  an  ecstasy 
of  pain.  "  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  "  I  would  lie  again  ;  I 
would  lie  to  all  the  world  if  it  could  keep  her  —  but 
it  can't  —  it  can't.  She  belongs  to  you  —  she  has 
always  belonged  to  you.  Once  she  pitied  me,  now 
she  will  despise  me  ;  it  is  very  plain  that  there  is  no 
place  in  the  world  for  one  like  me  — "  His  face 
contracted  ;  he  glanced  hopelessly  at  Strode  with  his 
silence,  his  averted  face,  his  suggestion  of  inevitable- 
ness;  then  his  false  strength  gave  way. 

"  She  saved  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  repaid  her  with 
pain  ;  you  were  kind  to  me,  and  I  lied  to  you  ;  now, 
even  God  forgets  me  —  "  He  turned  to  the  wall. 


THE    CIRCLE 

As  he  finished,  Strode  moved  slowly  round ;  his 
face  had  the  look  of  one  who  wholly  understands ; 
his  eyes  were  steady  and  clear.  Without  a  word  he 
held  out  his  hand. 

At  his  movement  Johann  looked  back  into  the 
room ;  as  he  turned,  deprecation  and  alarm  gave 
place  slowly  to  blank  surprise.  He  glanced  at  the 
outstretched  hand,  then  upwards,  in  a  bewildered 
way,  to  Strode's  face. 

"  But  I  lied  to  you  —  " 

Strode  said  nothing ;  his  hand  did  not  move. 

Dazedly  and  automatically  Johann  came  forward  ; 
at  last  he  extended  his  own. 

Their  hands  met ;  then  Strode  released  his  and 
walked  to  the  door. 

"  You  know  where  I  'm  going,"  he  said.  "  Wait 
here  till  I  come  back.11 

Johann  returned  no  answer  ;  he  had  dropped  into 
a  chair  by  the  desk. 

On  the  threshold  Strode  stopped  and  looked  back ; 
quite  quietly  he  re-crossed  the  room  and  put  his  hand 
on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"  I  'd  have  done  the  same  myself,'1  he  said.  "  I  'm 
about  sure  I'd  have  done  the  same  myself.  Just 
remember  that."" 

Johann's  head  was  buried  in  his  arm  ;  he  raised  it 
for  an  instant,  and  then  let  it  droop  again.  In  the 
instant  Strode  saw  that  bis  face  was  marked  with 
tears. 


PART   THREE  — CHAPTER  XI 

IN  Anna's  room  the  close  cloak    of  dusk    had 
shaken  itself  out ;  on  the  floor   the  strip  of 
Eastern  carpet — coloured  as  ever,  seemingly 
unchangeable  —  loomed  a  sombre  suggestion 
of  orange  and  blue  ;  on  the  wall  John  Desinski's  por- 
trait of  a  red-haired  child,  softened  and  mellowed 
bv  time,  still  gazed  wonderingly  at  an  unfathomed 
world  ;  by  the  narrow  bed,  her  knees  pressing  the 
old  prayer-marks,  her  elbows  buried  in  the  patched 
quilt,  knelt  Anna  herself —  very  quiet,  very  inert. 
She  knelt  with  bent  head   and  listening  ears,  her 
heart  beating  in  little  starts  and  jerks,  her  mind 
under  steady  control,  lest  in  the  silence  and  solitude 
of  the  house  it  might  crash  into  wild  confusion. 

For  many  minutes  she  remained  still,  her  hands 
pressed  tightly  over  her  eyes,  her  lips  from  time  to 
time  moving  in  soundless  prayers.  Then  sharply 
and  unexpectedly  the  Dutch  clock  downstairs  struck 
nine. 

She  rose  nervously,  glancing  behind  her  at  the 
shut  door ;  then  she  walked  to  the  wash-stand, 
poured  some  water  into  the  basin,  and  bathed  her 
face.  The  cold  of  the  water  refreshed  her;  she 
used  the  towel  slowly,  then  laying  it  aside  moved  to 


334  THE    CIRCLE 

the  small  unsteady  dressing-table  and  took  up  a 
comb.  There  was  practically  no  light  in  the  room, 
but  mechanically  she  passed  it  through  the  coil  of 
hair  above  her  forehead  —  moving  as  if  in  a  dream. 
Still  with  the  same  dazed  action  she  bent  to  replace 
it,  but  before  it  could  touch  the  table  it  dropped 
from  her  hand  with  a  clatter,  and  she  caught  the 
table  ledge  nervously,  jarring  its  contents.  Down- 
stairs —  not  at  the  shop  entrance,  but  at  the  small 
door  leading  from  the  yard  into  the  Passage  —  some- 
one was  knocking  with  hurried  impatient  taps. 

Anna  paled,  then  the  relief  and  possibility  of  a 
human  presence  —  any  human  presence  —  seized  her  ; 
and  groping  her  way  in  confused  haste  to  the  door, 
she  opened  it  and  stepped  on  to  the  corridor. 

On  the  corridor  she  paused  ;  before  her  lay  the 
stairs,  dim  and  steep ;  to  her  right  showed  the  shut 
door  of  her  father's  room,  a  black  patch  in  the  heavy 
gloom.  She  shivered.  A  louder,  more  impatient 
knock  sounded  through  the  house.  She  gathered 
her  strength  together,  as  a  frightened  child  might 
have  done,  and  without  a  look  to  either  hand  ran 
down  the  stall's  as  if  pursued. 

The  ground  floor  reached,  she  hurried  through 
the  kitchen,  opening  the  bars  of  the  yard  door  with 
unsteady  hands ;  then  from  the  kitchen  she  passed 
into  the  yard  itself,  where  the  moss  of  mould  clung 
to  the  walls  and  the  grass  blades  forced  themselves 
between  the  cobbles.  There,  there  was  light ;  over- 
head the  sky,  pale  and  summer-like,  was  scattered 


THE    CIRCLE  335 

with  countless  stars;  from   above  the  wall  of  the 
Passage  a  gas-lamp  threw  a  sickly  glow. 

Another  knock  fell  on  the  door ;  she  drew  a  quick 
grateful  breath.  The  thought  that  a  fellow  creature 
was  within  three  feet  held  wonderful  attraction. 
She  crossed  the  yard  hastily  and  paused  by  the  door 
in  the  wall. 

'*  Who  's  there  ?  "  she  asked.     "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

For  an  interval  there  was  no  reply.  She  leant 
close  to  the  chink  ;  she  heard  someone  stir  abruptly  ; 
she  could  have  sworn  that  she  heard  someone  take 
and  let  go  a  breath. 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  she  asked  again  nervously. 
'Johann?  Dr.  Kaine  —  ?  " 

There  was  a  fresh  second  of  uncertain  waiting  ;  then 
a  voice  — the  one  voice  com  prising  every  thing,  prom- 
ising everything  —  broke  on  her,  eager  and  alert. 

"  I,  dearest  —  Maurice.     Let  me  in." 

Her  fingers  grasped  the  bolt,  then  hung  nerveless 
and  incapable.  She  leant  against  the  woodwork 
faintly,  her  lips  parted,  her  senses  swaying. 

Strode  tapped  again  urgently.  "  Let  me  in,""  he 
whispered.  "  Anna,  dearest,  let  me  in." 

At  the  caressing  intonation  she  sprang  up,  her 
fingers  shook  palpably,  but  the  bolt  yielded.  A 
second  after  Strode  was  in  the  yard. 

He  came  forward  with  a  rush  ;  then  he  halted, 
struck  by  her  fragility,  her  pallor,  her  ethereal  look. 
The  light  in  the  yard,  misty  white  with  starlight, 
yellow  from  the  gas,  had  a  halo-like  effect.  With 


336  THE    CIRCLE 

something  of  fear,  something  of  hesitation,  he  held 
out  his  hands. 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him,  then  she 
ran  forward  and  caught  the  hands  in  her  own. 

"  You  care,  Maurice  ?     You  care  —  ? "" 

"  Dear,  I  worship  you.1" 

That  was  all.  Question  and  answer,  it  compassed 
and  covered  all.  When  hearts  are  over-full,  they 
seldom  run  to  speech.  When  sorrow  has  broken  in 
on  love,  love,  left  alone  again,  is  hesitant  and  shy, 
more  prone  to  look  and  kiss  and  hold  than  to  mend 
his  wounds  with  words.  There  was  all  the  length  of 
life  in  which  to  explain ;  for  the  moment  they  were 
together,  and  no  explanation,  no  satisfaction,  could 
balance  that. 

Anna  rested  against  his  shoulder  with  closed  eyes. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  knew  how  bitterly  rest 
was  needed.  But  the  thought  of  rest  brought  the 
thought  of  fatigue  —  fatigue  the  thought  of  duty  — 
duty  the  remembrance  of  many  things.  She  started 
up  again,  opening  her  eyes. 

"  Maurice,""  she  said,  "  my  father  is  dead ;  he  died 
nearly  two  hours  ago.  I  had  forgotten  —  since  you 
came  —  "  She  stopped  suddenly.  In  the  conflicting 
lights  her  red  hair  looked  dark,  her  grey  eyes  almost 
black. 

Strode  started.   ' « Dead ! "  he  said.  "  Your  father  ?  " 

"Yes.  He  has  been  ill  since  I  came,  very,  very 
ill.11  She  caught  his  hand  to  reassure  him.  "  We 
expected  it,  Maurice ;  we  knew  he  \vas  going  to  die." 


337 

He  gathered  his  ideas.  "  And  you  were  alone 
with  him  ?  "  he  said  slowly.  "  You  mean  to  say  that 
you  were  alone  —  absolutely  alone  with  him  ?  "  He 
looked  down,  horrified  and  incredulous. 

She  pressed  closer.  "  I  was  n't  afraid,  Maurice, 
I  couldn't  have  been  afraid,  he  was  so  terribly 
gentle.  He  just  went  out,  as  you  blow  a  candle.  I 
wasn't  a  bit  afraid  —  till  afterwards.  Afterwards, 
when  I  realised  —  and  it  grew  dark  —  She 
shivered,  laying  her  face  against  his  sleeve. 

He  caught  her  to  him  sharply  and  quickly.  "  I 
don't  know  what  to  say,  Anna.  I  don't  dare  ask  you 
to  forgive  —  " 

Her  eyes  widened.  "  Forgive  ?  "  she  said.  "  For- 
give what  ?  " 

"  Everything  ;  but  that 's  for  another  day.  Come 
inside." 

Unresistingly  she  let  him  lead  her  through  the 
kitchen  door.  In  the  kitchen  the  slacked  fire  gave  a 
faint  glow.  He  disengaged  himself,  struck  a  match, 
and  lighted  the  old  copper  lamp. 

They  stood  in  silence  looking  at  each  other,  then 
Strode  spoke  again  gently. 

"  I  Ve  never  seen  your  father,  Anna.  May  I  go 
upstairs  ?  " 

Her  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  "  Take  me 
with  you,"  she  said.  "  He  must  know,  he  must 
understand  —  now  ;  and  there  are  things  —  things  I 
want  to  say." 

He    pressed    her   fingers   comprehendingly,   then 


338  THE    CIRCLE 

picked  up  the  lamp.  Together  they  moved  to  the 
door,  but  at  the  door  a  new  idea  struck  Anna. 

"  Maurice,11  she  said,  pausing,  "  is  this  the  first 
time  that  you  Ve  been  here  since  I  came  back  ?  " 

The  question  was  direct.  He  looked  down  at  her, 
the  full  flood  of  lamplight  falling  on  his  face. 

"  It 's  the  tenth  time,  or  the  eleventh  —  I  "m  not 
sure  which.11 

She  gasped  and  drew  back.  "  Then  Johann  —  11 
She  waited.  "  Johann  —  ?  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Johann  is  human,  Anna  —  very  much  the  same 
as  you  or  me.11 

There  was  silence  for  a  space.  He  held  the  lamp 
above  his  head  steadily.  Anna^  eyes  were  on  the 
ground ;  she  was  fitting  things  together  with  dread 
and  doubt.  At  last,  with  a  rush  of  apprehension, 
she  looked  up  afresh. 

"  Johann  went  for  you  to-night  ?  It  was  for  you 
he  went  ? "" 

Strode  nodded. 

"He  is  alone  now?  You  left  him  somewhere 
alone  and  wretched  ? "  There  was  self-accusation 
and  fear  in  her  tone. 

Strode  touched  her  shoulder  again.  "  We  all  have 
times  when  we  are  best  alone  —  fights  that  we  must 
fight  alone.11 

She  continued  to  look  at  him.  "But  Johann, 
Maurice  —  Johann  —  " 

He  moved  back  into  the  kitchen,  and  set  down 
the  lamp. 


THE    CIRCLE  339 

*'  Come  here,""  he  said ;  "  I  have  something  to  say.1" 

She  moved  slowly  towards  him.  He  held  out  his 
hand.  Nervously  she  laid  hers  in  it.  He  drew  her 
close,  quietly  and  protectively. 

"  Now  listen.  Once  long  ago  Mrs.  Maxtead  tried 
to  scare  you  about  Johann  —  you  see  I  know  all 
your  secrets.  Once  long  ago  she  told  you  that 
Johann  was  the  type  of  man  who  takes  his  own 
life  —  under  certain  circumstances.  Now  there  she 
was  wholly  wrong ;  I  can  prove  that  she  was  wrong."" 

Anna  looked  up.     He  touched  her  hair  fondly. 

"  When  you  left  this  house  eight  years  ago,  you 
left  two  people  heart-broken.  One"  —  he  lowered 
his  voice  —  "  one  of  the  two  gave  the  greatest  proof 
of  heart-break  a  man  can  give.  You  know  what  I 
mean.11 

She  bowed  her  head. 

w  But  the  other  "  —  he  straightened  himself,  speak- 
ing alertly  and  quick  —  "  the  other,  Anna,  what  did 
he  do  ?  Remember,  the  loss  was  almost  as  great  to 
him.  What  did  he  do  ?  Did  he  kill  himself?  Did 
he  think  of  killing  himself?  No  ;  he  took  his  place 
behind  the  counter  and  just  went  on  with  life." 

Anna  moved  close  to  him.  "  You  are  very  com- 
forting, Maurice." 

He  smiled.  **  I  'm  just  practical,  that 's  all.  They 
say  it 's  the  weak  men  who  kill  themselves.  I  Ve 
always  doubted  that.  Johann  is  standing  in  chaos 
now;  but  things  will  settle  down  —  things  have  a 
marvellous,  unbelievable  way  of  settling  down.  He 


340  THE    CIRCLE 

has  come  into  this  world  warped.  What  he  wants  is 
a  new  standpoint.  He  's  like  a  plant  in  poor  soil : 
he  wants  digging  out  —  he  wants  transplanting.  I 
propose  that  we  do  the  gardening.  AVhat  do  you 
say  ?" 

Anna  was  silent. 

"  Dearest,  you  could  do  a  lot,  if  you  only  would. 
A  little  kindness,  a  little  friendship,  is  all  he  really 
wants.  In  his  soul  he  never  contemplated  asking 
any  more  —  I  believe  that.  He  used  to  say  you 
were  the  sun.  Well,  most  people  want  a  ray  cr  two 
of  the  sun  now  and  then  —  to  help  them  to  keep 
warm."" 

Anna  was  still  silent.  Two  hot  tears  fell  on 
Strode's  hand. 

He  caught  her  suddenly  and  closely  in  his  arms. 
;'  You  see  I  'in  generous,  dear.  Do  you  guess  why  ?  " 

She  looked  up.  Her  face  was  glowing ;  her  eyes 
looked  clear  and  steadfast  as  the  sea  at  Trescar. 

"Why,  Maurice?" 

He  looked  down ;  his  face  caught  the  glow  from 
hers,  and  his  lips  bent. 

"  Because  I  know  that  I  'm  standing  in  the  fall 
light- 

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EDGAR  A.  FOB. 
Gold  Elsie.     BY  E.  MARLITT. 
Golden    Treasury.     BY    FRANCIS    T. 

PALGRAVE. 
Goldsmith's      Poems.       BY      OLIVER 

GOLDSMITH. 
Grandfather's  Chair.     BY  NATHANIEL 

HAWTHORNE. 
Grant,  Ulysses  S.,  Life  of.     BY  J.  T. 

HEADLEY. 

Gray's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  GRAY. 
Great      Expectations.     BY      CHARLES 

DICKENS. 
Greek   Heroes.     Fairy  Tales   for   My 

Children.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLBY. 
Green  Mountain  Boys,  The.     BY  D.  P. 

THOMPSON. 
Grimm's   Household  Tales.     BY   TH» 

BROTHERS  GRIMM. 
Grimm's     Popular    Tales.     BY     THE 

BROTHERS  GRIMM. 

Gulliver's  Travels.     BY  DEAM  SWI»T 
•  Guy    Manaering.     BY    SS 

SCOTT 


BURTS  HOME  LIBRARY.    Cloth.    (Hit  Tops.    Price,  $1.00 


Hale,  Nathan,  the  Martyr  Spy.  By 
CHARLOTTE  MOLYNEUX  HOLLOWAY. 

Bandy  Andy.     BY  SAMUEL  LOVER. 

Hans  of  Iceland.     BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Hannibal,  the  Carthaginian,  Life  of. 
BY  THOMAS  ARNOLD,  M.  A. 

Hardy  Norseman,  A.    BY  EDNA  LYALL. 

Harold.     BY  BULWER-LYTTON. 

Harry  Lorrequer.    BY  CHARLES  LEVER. 

Heart  of  Midlothian.  BY  SIR  WALTER 
SCOTT. 

fleir  of  Redclyffe.  BY  CHARLETTE  M. 
YONGE. 

Hemans'  Poems.  BY  MRS.  FELICIA 
HEMANS. 

Henry  Esmond.  BY  WM.  M.  THACK- 
ERAY. 

fle:jry,  Patrick,  Life  of.     BY  WILLIAM 

Y/IRT. 

Her  Dearest  Foe.  BY  MRS.  ALEXAN- 
DER. 

Hereward.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
Heriot's  Choice.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Heroes     and      Hero- Worship.        BY 

THOMAS  CARLYLS. 
Hiawatha.     (WITH  NOTES.)     BY  H.  W. 

LONGFELLOW. 
Hidden  Hand,  The.    (COMPLETE.)  BY 

MRS.  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
History    of    a    Crime.       BY    VICTOR 

HUGO. 
History  of  Civilization  in  Europe.     BY 

M.  GUIZOT. 
Holmes'  Poems.  (  EARLY)  BY  OLIVER 

WENDELL  HOLMES. 
Eoly     Roman     Empire.     BY    JAMES 

BRYCE. 
Homestead  on  the  Hillside.     BY  MARY 

J.  HOLMES. 

Hood's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  HOOD. 
House    of    the    Seven    Gables.     BY 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 
Hunchback     of     Notre     Dame.     BY 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

Eypatia.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
Hyperion.     BY    HENRY    WADSWORTH 

LONGFELLOW. 

Iceland  Fisherman,     BY  PIERRE  LOTT. 
Idle  Thoughts  of  an  Idle  Fellow.     BY 

JEROME  K.  JEROME. 
Iliad,     POPE'S  TRANSLATION. 
Inez.     BY  AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS. 
Ingelow's  Poems.     BY  JEAN  INGELOW. 
Initials,     BY    THE    BARONESS    TAUT- 

PHOEUS. 

intellectual     Life.     BY     PHILIP     G. 

HAMERTON. 
In   the    Counsellor's   House.     BY    E. 

MARLITT. 
In    the     Golden     Days.     BY     EDNA 

LYALL. 
In    the    Heart    of    the    Storm.     BY 

MAXWELL  GRAY. 

In  the  Schillingscourt.     BY  E.  MAR- 
LITT. 
IshmaeL     (COMPLETE  )     BY  MRS.   E. 

D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
It  Is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend.     BY 

CHARLES  READS 


Ivanhoe.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Jane  Eyre.     BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 
Jefferson,     Thomas,     Life      of.     Bi 

SAMUEL  M.  SCHMUCKER,  LL?D. 
J«an    of    Arc,    Life    of.    BY    JULES 

MICHELET. 
John  Halifax,  Gentleman.     BY  Miss 

MULOCK. 

Jones,  John  Paul,  Life  of.     BY  JAMEK 

OTIS. 
Joseph     Balsamo.     BY     ALFXANDRB 

DUMAS. 
Jost^hine,  Empress  of  F/onc-,  Life  oi 

BY  FREDERICK  A.  OBI-X 
Keats'  Poems.     BY  JOHN  KEATS. 
Kenilworth.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOT* 
Kidnapped.     BY  R.  L.  STEVHXSON. 
King  Arthur  and  His  Noble  Kmghis. 

BY  MARY  MACLEOD. 
Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York, 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 
Knight  Errant     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 
Koran.     TRANSLATED      BY      GEORGE 

SALE. 
Lady  of  the  Lake.    (WITH  NOTES.)     BY 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Lady  with  the  Rubies.     BY  E.  MAR- 
LITT. 
Lafayette,  Marquis  de.   Life   of.     BY 

P.  C.  HEADLEY. 
Lalla     Rookh.     (WITH     NOTES.)     BY 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

Lamplighter.     BY    MARIA     S.     CUM- 
MINS. 

Last  Days  of  Pompeii.     BY  BULWER- 
LYTTON. 

Last   of   the   Barons.     BY    BULWER- 
LYTTON. 
Last    of    the    Mohicans.     BY    JAMES 

FENIMORE  COOPER. 
Lay    of    the    Last    Minstrel.    (WITH 

NOTES  )     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Lee,  General  Robert  E.,  Life  of.     B? 

G.  MERCER  ADAM. 
Lena  Rivers.     BY  MARY  J    HOLMES. 
Life   of   Christ.     BY    FREDERICK    W 

FARRAR. 

Life  of  Jesus.     BY  ERNEST  RENAN. 
Light     of     Asia.     BY     SIR     EDWIN 

ARNOLD 
Light    That    Failed.     BY     RUDYARD 

KIPLING. 
Lincoln,      Abraham,      Life      of.     BY 

HENRY  KETCHAM. 
Lincoln's   Speeches,     SELECTED    AND 

EDITED  BY  G.  MERCER   ADAM. 
Literature  and  Dogma.     BY  MATTHEW 

ARNOLD 

Little  Dorrit.  BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 
Little  Minister.  BY  JAMBS  U.  BARRIE 
Livingstone.  David,  Life  of.  BY 

THOMAS  HUGHES 
Longfellow's  Poems.      (EARLY  )     Bv 

HENRY  W    LONGFELLOW 
Lorna  Doone.     BY  R.  D.  BLACKMORE 
Louise  de  la  Valliere.     By  ALEXANDRA 

DUMAS. 
Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long.     B? 

CHARLES  READE. 


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